The vines of you, the vines of me
by tiltingaxis
Summary: Sometimes life throws you curveballs, gives you something then takes it away in the blink of an eye. AU
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Sort-of prompt by CSM, who convinced me to let the angstmonster play. A tale told in four parts. This will be a bumpy one folks!**

**Also, in a completely unrelated topic, for anyone who's interested in a soundtrack, I have compiled a fanmix for Nerve Damage which can be found at tiltingaxis(dot)tumblr /post/15128909216/ nerve-damage-fanmix. Thanks to CarmenMauri for the graphic!**

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><p>"<em>Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering."<em>

_-Nicole Krauss, The History of Love_

* * *

><p>It was supposed to be perfect.<p>

He had everything planned, perfectly timed, down to the tiniest details.

But of course, he fucks that up.

The glass is cool against his forehead as his body slumps even further against the large window. He doesn't know how he's still standing, because his mind is barely working right now as he waits. It's quiet where he's standing, and Finn Hudson slowly lets himself slide down to the ground in exhaustion.

He looks a mess. He lost his best jacket hours ago in the flurry of his panic, his white shirt sticking out of his pants. The red splotch near his waist is such a stark contrast to the rest of the fabric and as his eye catches the stain, he almost throws up again.

_Fuck._

This isn't the way it's supposed to go.

Xxx

_His foot taps nervously against the cement as he leans against the brick wall. He's nervous, but he's not supposed to show it, and other than his uncontrollable foot, he's got it down. But she knows him better than anyone, better than he knows himself, and if he doesn't keep the damn foot under control this instant, he'll completely blow his cover. So he clenches his toes and focuses all his energy on not making a single move. There. It's not that bad. He just looks like someone is controlling him with a pause button. __**Damn it.**_

"_Get it together Hudson," he mutters to himself, rolling his eyes in annoyance at his own awkwardness. "Be cool."_

_He tries to relax himself, moving his arms out and shaking his whole body as he takes in the cold weather. He can do this. He can be cool. He hears the latch of the double doors, and the exit door opens as she walks out, casually talking to one of her cast mates. _

_**This is it. Look alive.**_

_She looks up and sees him, and just like that, every single doubtful thought leaves his body as he waves at her with one hand, grinning wide at the beam that's growing on her face. She says a quick goodbye and he reciprocates the other woman's wave before his attention goes back towards the tiny woman jogging up to him._

"_What are you doing here?" she asks breathlessly as she reaches him, stopping just short of running him into the wall. "I thought you won't be back until tomorrow."_

"_Don't you want me here?" he teases. "I can come back tomorrow if you'd like."_

_She rolls her eyes before she squeals and jumps him. He grunts, staggering against the wall as her legs go around his waist and her arms wrap themselves tightly around his neck, his arms wrapping themselves firmly under her legs to hold her steady._

"_Don't you dare," she whispers against his ear, her breath warming his cold skin. He smiles against her shoulder and says nothing as he squeezes her tighter against him._

"_I missed you so much," she mumbles, leaning back to kiss him firmly on the lips before unwinding her legs from around him. She laughs when he refuses to let her go, letting her legs suspend a few feet off the ground._

"_Put me down Finn."_

"_No," he murmurs, leaning forwards to kiss her forehead. "I missed you too, and I don't wanna."_

"_That's real mature," she teases, giggling as he sticks his tongue out before grinning at her. She reaches to take off the cap he's wearing, putting it on her head instead. "Fine. We'll just stand here at the back of the studio for the rest of the night."_

"_I can do that."_

"_I'm real heavy," she warns. He laughs at that._

"_Please. Rachel Barbra Berry, you barely weigh anything."_

"_Well the coat is really heavy you know. It's freezing out here."_

_She leans forward to kiss him again, and he lets her down gently, threading his fingers through hers once she's standing._

"_I'm taking you out tonight," he tells her. She raises an eyebrow as he playfully pushes the bill of his cap down to hide her eyes. _

"_Where are we going?" she asks excitedly._

"_You'll see," was his mysterious answer, ignoring her pout as he pulls her along._

_Xxx_

"_How's Lima?" she asks as she buckles her seatbelt._

"_Lima's Lima," he answers, shrugging. She rolls her eyes._

"_I __**know**__ that. I mean, how's Carole doing? Is she okay?"_

"_Mom? Of course she is. She sent you that recipe you asked for by the way. Remind me to give it to you later."_

"_So her back's doing okay?" she asks, turning to look at him. _

"_Yeah, of – I mean," he switches quickly, catching himself. "She's doing great. It wasn't as bad as we thought it was going to be, just a minor sprain."_

"_Thank God," Rachel says, relieved. "I was so worried."_

"_Yeah, nothing to worry about," he tells her, smiling._

"_Is that why you're back early?" she asks. He wishes she'd stop with the questions. It's messing with his concentration._

"_What?" he asks distractedly. He checks the time. It's 8.30. He's right on schedule. He runs through the mental checklist once again. Rachel, check. Reservation, check. Flowers, are in the trunk of his car. The ring is-_

_**Fuck**__._

"_I said, is that why you're back early- Finn, are you okay?"_

"_I- I- I'm fine," he stammers, one hand holding the wheel as his other tries to covertly slip into his the pocket of his pants. He holds his sigh of relief as his fingers touch the velvet box. He turns to shoot her an unassuming grin. "I came back early 'cause mom didn't need me anymore, and I figured I wouldn't want you to miss me too much, you know?" _

"_Someone's cocky tonight."_

"_I'm just telling it like it is babe."_

"_I barely missed you at all," she declares jokingly as he winks at her. "I only checked my phone three times today to see if you called."_

" _Only three? I'm hurt."_

"_Yep. And I didn't even call Kurt to ask him why I couldn't reach you."_

_He chuckles, grabbing her hand to pull it onto her lap._

"_Okay fine," he relents, rubbing circles over her knuckles with his thumb. "I came home early because __**I**__ missed __**you**__ too much."_

"_That's better."_

_He turns to smile at her, and it's quiet for a while as her fingers toy with his._

"_Where are we going Finn?"_

"_You'll see."_

_Xxx_

_He parks his car in the first secluded alley he finds and turns to face her after he unbuckles his seatbelt. It's 9.15. He's running a little late. _

"_Are we here?" she asks, slightly confused as she looks out the window. _

"_Remember our first date?" he asks quietly. She turns to him, smiling._

"_Yes," she answers, amused. "We were supposed to go to Sardi's but-"_

"_I didn't know I had to make a reservation because apparently walk-ins are impossible-"_

"_And we spent the whole night in this very car, in front of the restaurant instead," she finishes, laughing at the memory. "Eating takeout, because you said it was the atmosphere that counts and the front door is good enough."_

_He shakes his head ruefully, grinning._

"_It was a disaster," he murmurs. She shakes her head._

"_It was perfect," she tells him. _

"_You're perfect," he says instead, a goofy grin gracing his features as she blushes._

"_And you're cheesy. And for the final time, where are you taking me Mr. Hudson?"_

"_I thought we'd try it again," he says carefully, watching as her face lights up. "I made the reservation this time."_

"_You're pulling out all the stops tonight. Did you do something?" she asks teasingly._

"_Just thought you'd enjoy going on a proper, disaster-averted date for once," he quips._

_She frowns suddenly when she looks down._

"_But I'm not dressed for the occasion. Finn, I'm in jeans-"_

"_You'd look gorgeous in a burlap sack."_

"_Well I'm glad you think so, but one does not step into Sardi's in casual jeans Finn Hudson, __**especially**__ not one Rachel Berry."_

"_I thought you'd say that," he says, grinning nervously. His palms are starting to sweat as she turns to look at him curiously._

"_What are you-"_

"_Look in the back seat."_

_She practically jumps into the backseat in her excitement as he continues to ramble on nervously._

"_I bought it. For you. __**Duh**__. I mean, Kurt picked it out. He said you'll love it, but if you don't, you don't have to wear it. You don't even have to keep it. Like, I'll return it, or throw it away, or give it to the homeless or something. Okay this is stupid. You probably hate-"_

"_Finn."_

_He stops talking and turns around, startled to find her face inches away from him. Grabbing the back of his neck, she kisses him fiercely. He ignores the uncomfortable position they're in as he attempts to deepen it, but she pulls away, beaming at him breathlessly._

"_Help me put this on," she whispers._

Xxx

He feels a warm pressure pressed against his side and looks up from the ground he's been staring at.

Santana looks back at him, face grim, eyes bloodshot.

"When did you get here?" he asks, his voice raspy. She shakes her head.

"I just did. How-"

"I don't know."

She holds his gaze for a second longer before he looks away, the frustration returning just beneath his skin.

He feels her settling down next to him, replicating his slumped position on the floor. She says nothing as she takes his hand.

She's gripping his hand as tightly as she can.

She doesn't flinch when he does the same.

Xxx

_Her eyes are shining as she looks around, and the way the candle flames reflect in them makes him think of tiny little twinkling stars. He smiles to himself, because four years with Rachel Berry has turned every single star he sees into a metaphor for her._

_Kurt was right, the dress is perfect. He doesn't know much about fashion, even less about dresses, but he knows her body like the back of his hand, and that dress, that dress is slowly but surely killing him._

_It's getting closer to the end of the night, and he's still relatively on time. He still has no clue what the next step is going to be. Should he go down on one knee? Or would that make too much of a scene? He's pretty sure Rachel won't mind if it does, because she lives for being the centre of attention. It's him that's the problem, as he realizes the all too probable reality of him fumbling the whole thing up in front of a live audience._

_**Grow some balls Hudson.**_

_God knows four years with her should be enough for him to swallow some of that male pride. They're at Sardi's and she's here and she's perfect, and she's the only person in this whole world that he feels himself with._

_She makes him feel like he's home, and home is something you sacrifice everything for right?_

_And if she wants a big grand proposal, then __**damnit**__, he's going to give her one._

_She catches him looking and smiles as she takes his hand._

"_This is amazing," she tells him. "I love you."_

"_It's not over yet," he answers, trying to be as smooth as he can. Is that a knowing smile on her face?_

"_It's not?" _

_He shakes his head as he stands. His hands are shaking just a little but he's still smiling as he reaches for the box in his pocket. The place is packed, and he gets why it's such a bitch to get reservations for the weekend. Nobody notices him anyway. _

_Her eyes are wide with anticipation as she looks up at him, and suddenly the rest of the world disappears as he drops down to one knee, his hands fumbling clumsily to open the box._

"_Rachel Barbra Berry," he starts, "I don't have some big speech planned for this occasion, because you know, adding that on top of all this pressure will just make me screw everything up, and you'd know that more than anyone."_

_He sees the tears springing out of the corner of her eyes and out of reflex, his thumb brushes them away as continues to talk._

"_And- and I'm trying to make this perfect, but it probably won't be because I'm me, and I'm the __**farthest**__ thing from perfect. But- but you are. Perfect, I mean. You're perfect for me. And- and if you'll let me, I swear I'll spend the rest of my life trying to be perfect for you. So- so-"_

_He stops for a second as he focuses his attention on getting the box open, grinning in relief when it does and the simple, shiny ring he'd seen on his mom's finger her whole life shows itself. He vaguely hears her gasping, and he looks up, smiling._

"_So will you marry me?"_

_He thinks this must be what it feels like when someone gets a heart attack, because he can barely breathe as her eyes grow softer when she looks him in the eye._

"_Yes," she whispers._

"_Yeah?" he asks, grinning. She nods furiously, the small smile on her face growing into a Rachel Berry beam._

"_Yes, yes, yes!" she squeals as she leaves her chair and kneels next to him to pull him into her arms. He laughs as she squeezes him as tightly as she can, the ring crushed between their bodies._

_They __**are**__ making too much of a scene._

_But he doesn't think anyone really minds. He sure as hell doesn't._

_He doesn't mind at all._

_xxx_

"_It's called a Claddagh ring," Rachel tells him as she holds up her hand once again, admiring the perfect fit on her finger. "Did you know that?"_

_He shakes his head as he swings their intertwined hands together. They're walking back towards the car, and the crowd is starting to thin out. It wasn't an easy exit, as Rachel insisted on showing her ring to anyone who asked, and there were a surprising number of women who did. Finn managed to steer them away after their waiter boisterously wished them luck, and she's been holding up her free hand to look at the ring twenty times in the span of five minutes._

"_It's your grandmother's. Did you know __**that**__?"_

"_I do," he answers, amused._

"_It's an Irish tradition," she continues happily. "I bet you didn't even know that your grandma was Irish."_

"_No clue whatsoever."_

"_Carole told me when I asked her about it. Did you know that your grandmother brought this ring with her when she moved to our shores? Yeah, and when your granddad proposed, and gave her a ring, she told him that it was swell, but that he had to do it again because she already had her wedding ring, she was just waiting for a groom."_

"_Gamma was a badass," he says, laughing at the enthralled look on her face._

"_She really was," Rachel agrees. "I'm so proud to be part of the legacy of such strong women."_

"_Hey," he says, stopping them as they reach they curb to pull her into his arms. He leans his forehead against hers, grinning. "How come you know more about my family then I do?" he murmurs._

"_Practice," she whispers back. She leans up to rub her nose against his and he pulls her up to kiss her. "They're going to be my family too you know," she whispers against his smile._

"_Are they now?"_

"_Yup. I was just bidding my time."_

"_You knew I was proposing?" he asks. She just smiles knowingly. "How?"_

"_The same way I knew your mom didn't really fall and hurt her back."_

"_Kurt told you, huh?"_

"_No," she answers sheepishly. "I'm just a little psychic."_

"_Oh right," he answers sarcastically. "I forgot about that."_

"_I am!"_

"_Oh yeah? What does your psychic mind tell you now?" he asks jokingly as he releases her. She grins, walking backwards as she steps off the curb onto the empty street._

"_It's telling me that __**someone**__ is getting very, __**very**__ lucky tonight," she tells him._

"_How lucky?" _

"_Irish four clovers lucky," she jokes as he starts to follow her._

"_That was lame Berry," he groans._

"_Shut up," she answers, laughing. "That was cute, and you know it Hudson. Now I suggest you hurry up. You never know when your luck is going to run out."_

_She flashes him a come hither smile before she turns and runs. He grins, picking up his pace. _

Xxx

Life sometimes happens in slow motion.

Sometimes, it's like an out of body experience, where he sees himself as he acts and speaks and thinks.

Sometimes, life happens before you see it coming.

But sometimes, sometimes it's all three wrapped into one horrible, frozen, fraction of a second.

She was still laughing when that car came around the corner.

Xxx

"_Finn_."

He groans when someone shakes him. His eyes flutter open by degrees, and he winces at the crick in his neck. His vision clears, and Santana's clear, brown eyes bore into his.

"She's awake."

Xxx

He runs to her room, Santana close on his heels, and stops short at the doorway, his heart beating furiously against his ribcage.

There's a nurse taking her temperature, and his heart constricts at the cast her left hand is currently sporting.

"Rachel," he whispers, his voice thick with all the emotion he's been keeping in check.

He hurries over to her and the nurse leaves to give them some privacy. Santana stands at the edge of the doorway.

She's looking at him without saying a word, but he doesn't care as his eyes scan over her face and his hands grip her good one. The warmth of her skin calms him.

"Thank God," he whispers as he leans a little closer. "Thank God you're okay."

"You," she starts, her voice scratchy. She winces from the strain and he waits patiently for her to continue.

"Are you-"

"I'm fine-"

"Are you my doctor?"

Xxx

Sometimes life throws you curveballs, gives you something then takes it away in the blink of an eye.

He stares unseeingly as the doctor continues to talk, every single word sailing through his head except for four simple ones.

"She doesn't remember you."

Sometimes, sometimes life is just a fucking bitch.


	2. Disassociative mind

**A/N: As per usual, the muse is a stubborn one, and this story has just taken quite the unexpected turn. In my head, anyway.**

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><p>"<em>Some people just get happier and happier every day. And some people just get sadder and sadder. And some people, like you, get both."<em>

_"And what about you, are you the happiest and the saddest right now that you've ever been?__"_

_"Of course I am."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because nothing makes me happier and nothing makes me sadder than you."_

– _Nicole Krauss, The History of Love_

Xxx

"How the fuck does she not remember you?"

"I don't know."

"This is ridiculous. People black out because of concussions; they don't lose chunks of their memories. What kind of fucked up-"

"The doctor says it's just temporary. Because of the head trauma. He said we shouldn't worry."

"How temporary?"

He sighs, finally looking away from the empty coffee cup in his hands towards her demanding face.

"Could be a few hours. A day or two. He didn't specify."

"How the hell-"

"I don't know Santana!" he snaps, crushing the paper cup as he balls his hand into a fist. "Okay?"

She looks like she's about to say something, but she catches herself, glaring back at him instead.

"So what do we do now?" she finally asks in resignation. He shakes his head imperceptibly, feeling that knot of pressure at the back of his neck growing along the back of his skull.

"We wait."

Xxx

He hesitates just outside of her door. He had freaked out when she didn't recognise him. At first he thought it was just a really bad joke, but even Rachel's not that great of an actress and when she just kept on staring at him, with that blank expression on her face, he began to feel the dread that's by now the size of the Atlantic growing in the pit of his stomach. Finn shakes his head, groaning as he remembers how he had backpedalled, literally taken a few steps back in surprise until his back had hit the wall as he stared back at her stupidly.

It's been almost four hours.

Does she remember him now?

He's about to step in when he sees her. Her eyes are wide open as she looks up at the ceiling, her tiny frame looking impossibly small on the hospital bed. He knocks softly against the door as he stands just under the doorway. Her eyes turn to him instantly, and something twists in his chest when the expectant look on her face changes into one of caution almost immediately.

So he's still a stranger now.

"Hi," he says slowly, holding up his hand in a suspended wave.

"Hello."

She's eyeing him suspiciously, and it's weird, seeing the woman he's planning to spend the rest of his life with looking at him like he's a complete stranger. He can't remember the last time Rachel had looked at him without that familiar warmth in her eyes. It was part of what made her Rachel, and what made her his.

_Don't overreact,_ he tells himself. It's just temporary. She'll remember him soon enough. The only thing he can do now is to try and not spook her.

"Sorry about, you know. Being weird earlier," he starts sheepishly as he steps in, grabbing the back of his neck. He sees her tense shoulders visibly relaxing as her face breaks into a small, but still cautious, smile.

"That's okay. I just-" She stops, looking at him in scrutiny. "Am I supposed to know you?"

"Something like that."

"Okay. I was in a- in a car accident?" she asks doubtfully, looking down at her cast. He nods, feeling the migraine returning as he remembers the sight of all that blood.

"Were we in the car together?"

"Erm- not exactly. You were crossing the street."

He speaks slowly, as if her memories would be able to just magically catch up to her if he speaks slow enough. So sue him, it's not like he knows how this thing works anyway.

"And you brought me here!" she says, sounding sure of herself.

"You remember that?" he asks hopefully, straightening his posture. Because she was still awake when the ambulance came, barely holding on, but alive. He shakes his head rapidly, trying to push the images of all the blood, and her gasping breaths away. They're all still freshly embedded in his mind, and it's the most ironic thing in the world that she can't remember any of it. He's still recovering from the shock, from that split second when the thought of living in a world without her seemed like an all too real possibility.

She looks back at him sheepishly as she shakes her head.

"No. It's just that-well," she gestures towards the bloodstain on his shirt. "Your shirt."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry."

"No- no you have nothing to be sorry for," he answers hastily as he steps closer. She shrinks a little further into her bed and he realises that she's still jumpy. He stops short, trying not to take it personally. "I'm just glad you're okay."

He's more than glad, more than relieved. He wants to go to her, he wants so badly to hold her, to kiss every inch of her skin until every tremor in his body goes away. He has a burning need to inspect every part of her, just so he can be sure that she's fine.

But he can't, because she doesn't remember him.

This is crazy.

Xxx

He waits.

But a whole day comes and goes.

As he steps into her hospital room, she smiles pleasantly when she sees him, and he knows he's still waiting.

xxx

"I just- I wish I can remember you," she speaks up in frustration. Her good hand is twisting the sheets in her fist and he sees the way her brows furrow, the way they always do when she's upset. "I wish I can remember something, _anything_ that happened before-before I got here. I mean, we know each other! We must know each other for quite a while judging by the way you reacted. How can I not remember you?"

She looks at him imploringly, upset, and he knows she must be scared. He wishes there's something he could do about it.

All he does, all he _can_ do, is to look back helplessly.

"I don't know," he answers quietly. Her shoulders slump as she sighs.

"We can- what did the doctor say?"

"He said that this happens sometimes, after a traumatic event, and that-"

"You'll remember soon?" he asks morosely, frowning. "Yeah, that's what he told me too."

"You asked for me?" she asks softly. He sits up at the tone of her voice, and the tight noose around his heart loosens a little when he sees the familiar warmth return to her eyes. She's looking at him almost like the way she always does, (_did_, he corrects himself) almost like she loves him. Almost.

He leans closer to her, one hand pressed down on the hospital bed.

"Of course I did," he answers earnestly.

Her small, warm hand covers his hesitantly.

"So we know each other pretty well?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"You must hate me," she whispers, tears pooling in her eyes. "For not remembering you."

His hand itches to lean forward and rub his thumb against the skin under her eye, but he refrains, clenching his fists to the side. He needs to be patient. God knows she's freaking out enough without him trying to be all over her.

"Believe me," he starts ruefully. "I could never hate you."

She smiles at him, but it's a sad smile, and after all she's been through all he wants is to make her smile.

_It's just temporary_, he tells himself.

So he smiles at her as he turns his hand to weave their fingers together.

"Hi," he says, grinning as she looks up at him in confusion. "I'm Finn. Finn Hudson."

Her face breaks into a real smile this time, her eyes crinkling as she shakes his hand.

"Hello Finn," she says. "I'm Rachel."

Xxx

"You listen to me Beanpole," Santana whispers furiously as she holds his hand in an iron grip. "That is my _bestfriend_ in there, and I can damn well see her when I want to."

"Santana-"

"The fuck are we walking around eggshells for? The sooner she remembers the better, and don't you think surrounding herself with familiar things, familiar _people_, will help her to?"

"Dr. Carson-"

"Screw that middle-aged bald eagle," she hisses. She lowers her voice when he shoots her a warning look. "Look," she starts again, taking a deep breath. "There is not a hell of a whole lot of people in this world I care for, but that tiny little melodramatic midget in there? She's one of them, alright? And I-"

"You miss her," he finishes gently. She says nothing as she looks away, but her grip loosens and he feels the blood returning to his fingers. He shakes his head, taking a deep breath as he tries not lose it.

"I miss her too," he tells her. "But I- she's not getting better."

"What the fuck are talking about Hudson?"

Her eyes narrow into little slits when she looks up at him, and he shakes his head again, rubbing his free hand over his face.

"She should remember by now," he starts slowly, his tone frustrated as he sags against the wall just outside of Rachel's room. "But she- she _doesn't_. She doesn't remember anything, Santana. Not me, or you, not _anything_. I tried talking to her about the play, about the musical, she didn't even blink. And Dr. Carson, he said maybe it's more serious than we think, because it's been _three_ days, and it's not supposed to go on this long. _God_ Santana, I can't-" He takes another deep breath as his voice gets shriller. He doesn't notice his voice escalating until Santana starts patting his back awkwardly and he notices the nurses' furtive glances.

"He says they need to do an MRI," he continues in a low voice. "Santana, what if-"

"Shut up." He looks up at her, surprised. Her tone was harsh, but she tries to smile when he catches her eye. "Her drama is catching up on you Tubs," she says, punching his arm gently. He rolls his eyes.

"I'm serious San-"

"She'll be fine."

Her words are firm, like no amount of doubting will remove them.

"How do you know?" he asks finally, the confident smile on her face calming him down.

"Because no way in hell will Rachel Berry let anything happen to herself before she makes her stage debut."

He cracks a smile at that.

Xxx

He walks a little behind her, noting the way she keeps clenching and unclenching her fists as they trail behind Dr. Carson. Before he realizes what he's doing, his hand is already on her shoulder.

"Hey," he starts gently. He's still trying his best to be nothing but gentle around her, knowing how jumpy she is these days. "Are you okay?"

She smiles tremulously at him as she nods her head.

"I'm just a little nervous."

"Don't be. I'm gonna be there the whole time."

She's scrutinizing him again. He's hoping his grin is reassuring.

"Thank you," she says.

"No problem."

Dr. Carson signals for them to turn left, and as they reach their destination, she turns to him once again, leaning closer.

"Is it wrong if some part of me feels excited at the prospect of getting an MRI and finding out that I'm suffering from some tragic disease?" she whispers. He pulls back in surprise, her words being the last thing he expected to come out of her mouth.

She's looking at him, completely solemn, and he can't help the chuckle that escapes. He really should have known better.

"You wouldn't be Rachel Berry if you're not," he tells her, grinning. Her eyes shine as she smiles.

"Really?" she asks, excited.

"Totally."

"Maybe I'm starting to get back to myself," she tells him, hopeful. He shakes his head, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear before following Dr. Carson inside.

"You were never anyone else."

Xxx

"Does she know who you are?"

"She knows me."

"I didn't ask if she knows _you_, moron. I asked if she knows who you _are_."

The insult rolls right off his back as she glares at him. Santana's always a little snappy when she's upset.

"No. I mean, I kinda don't want to freak her out, you know? She's freaking out as it is."

"Stop being a pussy Hudson," Santana says, rolling her eyes as she drops her cigarette on the pavement, crushing it with the back of her heel.

"Where are you going?" he calls out as she starts to walk away. She turns to look at him over her shoulder.

"It's time we stopped waiting Finn. I'm getting her back."

Xxx

He looks nervously as he stands near the door between an adamant Santana and a cautious Rachel. Santana can be... abrasive when she's in her element and although Rachel got used to it long before he ever did, _this_ Rachel hasn't.

"Berry," Santana starts impatiently.

Rachel looks towards him in confusion, and he tries to give an encouraging nod.

"Hello," she says, nodding back at him. "I-"

"Look, I'mma cut the crap, okay? This package of fine ass you're looking at here?" Santana starts, pointing to herself. "This is Santana Lopez. AKA, your roommate slash bestfriend slash sister bitch from another mother."

Rachel's eyes are wide open as Santana continues talking.

"These babies right here?" Santana continues, pointing to her boobs. "You've been around longer than they have, okay? So this whole not remembering me thing? I call bullshit."

"Santana, I'm really sorry-"

"And Stretchy over there? Well he's your-"

"Santana," he cuts in firmly. Santana turns to look at him, and he shakes his head, matching her glare. After a few seconds of stare down while Rachel looks on, probably more confused than ever, Santana rolls her eyes, shrugging.

"Fine. Whatever. Anyway-"

Her sentence is cut short when Rachel, previously laying back against the pillows, suddenly shot up in bed, her eyes zeroing on the ring around her finger.

"I remember!" she yells. He straightens up, rushing over to her quickly.

"What-" he starts, as Santana hangs back and yells _I told you so_.

"Oh my God, Finn. Does he know?"

"Who are you-" he starts as he reaches her, but she cuts him off, grabbing his hands imploringly.

"You need to tell him."

"Tell who?"

"My husband."

"Rachel, we're not-"

"Jesse."

He thinks his heart may have just stopped beating.

She's looking at him expectantly, worry etched on her features, and he vaguely hears Santana's string of Spanish expletives.

"Who the _fuck_ is Jesse?" Santana finally spits out.

Rachel looks at her, confused, before she turns to look at him.

"Jesse St. James," she says, as slowly as she can, like he's slow or something. But maybe he _is_ slow, because she's gripping his hand tightly as she looks back at him hopefully, and he doesn't understand _anything_ that just happened.

Not one _fucking_ thing.


	3. fugue state

**A/N: Not sure if this will go over well, but here we go =).**

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><p>He runs his hand through his dishevelled hair for the hundredth time as he leans back against the seat. It's been a long week, and he honestly cannot remember the last time he slept. He guesses saving all of his leave for that vacation they were planning to take is going to be used up a little too soon. At least the school seems to understand. He just hopes the kids will. His mom has been calling practically every hour, and it had taken him the better part of two days to assure her that there was no need for her to come to New York. One Hummel in his apartment is enough. He bites back a groan at the thought of Kurt, who had insisted on staying over until things 'get better'. He loves his brother, but he thinks he might break something if he comes home to Kurt's relentless hovering one more time.<p>

"Mr. Hudson."

He sits up, blinking his eyes open to pay attention to the doctor in front of him.

"Yeah," he answers, exhausted. He looks at the name plate to make sure he remembered the right name.

Dr. Christopher Wyatt looks like his younger than Dr. Carson. At least that mop on his head is still red anyway. He's supposed to be the Neurologist, and his schedule's a bitch, so Finn sure hopes to God he knows what's wrong with Rachel already.

"I'm sure you know Dr. Carson referred your case to me."

"Uh-huh. He said you might be able to help. So- so are you?"

He's not trying to be rude or anything, but right now his fiancé won't speak to him because she thinks she's _married_ to someone else, and he kind of thinks that maybe that gives him some room to be. Dr. Wyatt looks at him intently, and he realizes that he's starting to get sick of people looking at him like that. The office is huge, but there are like a million books in here, and they're all over the place, in the bookshelves and stacked on the floor. This doctor feels like he knows a lot.

"Mr. Hudson, do you know anything about the fugue state?"

Finn stares blankly back at the man in front of him. The what now?

"I teach music and gym to elementary school kids Dr. Wyatt," he snaps, annoyed. "Do you think I know what that means?"

The doctor raises an eyebrow, and the ire he feels dissipates.

"Sorry doc," he apologizes ruefully. "It's just-" He runs his hand through his hair once again, sighing. "It's been a long week."

"I can only imagine," Dr. Wyatt says, nodding. "I don't mind Mr. Hudson-"

"Please call me Finn."

"Sometimes being on the other side can be just as overwhelming."

He laughs humourlessly, shaking his head.

"Yeah. So this Fuji state-"

"Fugue."

"Yeah, whatever. What about it?"

"Mr. Hudson-"

"Finn."

"How long have you known Ms. Berry?"

"Four years," he answers, smiling unwittingly at the thought. Thinking of her always makes him smile, even when it makes him want to cry. "We've been together for almost as long," he adds needlessly.

"And has Rachel ever exhibited any... inconsistencies about her past? Any vague discrepancies in her history?"

He's pretty sure he's staring at the doctor like he's crazy.

"No," he answers slowly. "She's an only child, she's an orphan."

"How did her parents pass on?"

"It was a car accident. She used to live with her aunt, but they had a falling out years ago, and she moved out, moved here."

"So she has no family to speak of?"

"Other than that aunt, I guess not. What does this have to do with anything?"

"What do you know about her childhood?"

"She doesn't really like to talk about it. Just random things, like how she used to dress up like Barbra Streisand and sing to her stuffed animals- look doc, I don't see how this-"

"A fugue state, Mr Hudson, is a rare psychiatric disorder. It's- well you can see it as a more complex version of amnesia, if you will. Are you following me?"

He frowns, his brows furrowed as he nods and gestures for the doctor to continue.

"Alright. During the fugue state, which generally lasts several hours or a few months, but in this case, I would deduce that it's been years, an individual forgets who they are and takes leave of his or her usual physical surroundings."

"What do you mean, years?" he cuts in, confused. She just got into that horrible accident last week. Dr. Wyatt shakes his head.

"I don't think you understand. In minor cases, like what I think we have here, the individual can assume a new identity. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

"It sounds like you're trying to tell me that fiance's crazy doc," he answers, chuckling uncomfortably. "So I probably don't."

"Not crazy," Dr. Wyatt muses. "Dissociative disorders are not the same thing as being crazy."

Finn stares at him in disbelief, but he continues to look back with that same, normal expression.

"You're serious?" he finally asks.

"I don't joke with my patients Mr. Hudson."

"You're trying to tell me that my fiancé, _my_ Rachel, was so traumatized by the accident, that she just ups and makes this Jesse guy up out of thin air? Why would she do that?"

Seriously, he knows she's dramatic and all that, but she's not that dramatic. Right? The doctor is practically staring holes into his head right now as he waits for an answer.

"Mr. Hudson," Dr. Wyatt says slowly, sitting up in his chest as he leans across the table. "I think you're mistaken. I don't think she's entering a fugue state, I think she's coming out of one."

Finn stares back, blood rushing in his ears as the explanation finally comes through. That's impossible.

"What are-"

"Rachel doesn't remember you because she doesn't know you, because she wasn't who she really is when she was with you."

Xxx

He paces back and forth across the room, shaking his head perpetually.

"You're crazy."

"Mr. Hudson-"

"You're fucking insane."

"I don't think there's a need for-"

"What kind of a doctor are you?" he demands as he stops short, turning back to glare at the doctor in front of him.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that, in light of your distress," Dr. Wyatt starts calmly as Finn tries to catch his breath. "However, I do believe you're entitled to your opinion, I know this is a hard diagnosis to accept. And I am perfectly willing to recommend my colleague for a second opinion."

He considers that for a second.

"In another hospital? We have to move her?"

"Well. Yes, I'm the only neurologist here."

He shakes his head, groaning in frustration. She's already a basket-case as it is just _sitting_ there in that hospital room. She won't even look at him these days. No way in hell is he taking her to another hospital.

"You're telling me my fiancé is crazy," he says in resignation as he drops back down onto his seat.

"Not crazy. Just-"

"Fine, you're telling me that she has a mental disorder."

"Yes."

"And that she's been... pretending to be someone else the whole time we've been together?"

"Not pretending. I think she believed that she was whoever she said she was."

"And if I don't believe you," Finn continues, talking to himself as he ignores the presence of the man in front of him. "If I think she's fine and- and _doesn't_ have a mental disorder, then she's just a liar."

"So basically doc, what you're trying to tell me is," he says slowly, looking back at the silent man before him. "Either way, I'm fucked."

Xxx

She looks determinedly out the window, refusing to look at him.

"Rachel," he starts, tired. "You're gonna have to speak to me sooner or later. Screaming is not the same thing, by the way."

She turns to glare at him from the bed, and he holds his hands up in defense.

"I'm not talking to anyone until my husband gets here."

"Rachel-"

"I was so _stupid_ when I thought I could trust you. Of course you're lying! Who are you really? Was I kidnapped? Am I part of some human trafficking syndicate?"

"Seriously?"

"And why won't this stupid hospital let me _leave_?" she finishes, her voice escalating with every word.

"Because, for the hundredth time, I am _not_ lying to you," he answers, annoyed. "You were in a car accident and you broke your arm, and apparently lost your memory, or gained some new memory or whatever-"

"I feel perfectly fine-"

"I'm registered as your emergency contact," he tells her.

"And the hospital believed you, of course. This place is obviously incompetent. Let me guess, you registered for me," she says sarcastically.

"No," he answers quietly. "You did. Three years ago when you sprained your ankle in the middle of a school concert."

"I- " she starts contemptuously, almost ignoring him. But what he said must have registered because she stops and looks at him curiously. "What?"

"Yeah," he continues, almost angrily. "Back when we realized Santana was absolutely useless in case of emergencies and you said it might as well be me since it was going to be sooner or later anyways."

She looks at him, surprised. He's coming to terms with the fact that she can't remember, but he's _not_ coming to terms with getting treated this way.

But her eyes harden, and he closes his, deflating.

"I don't remember that," she tells him.

"Of course not."

"I don't remember you."

He thought a week of her saying this like it's a prayer would have been something he got used to.

Apparently not judging by that sharp stabbing he feels, as usual.

Xxx

"This is impossible."

"Hudson-"

"She said I'm kidnapping her!"

"That's just her being dramatic."

"How do you know?"

He can practically feel her rolling her eyes through the phone.

"It's Rach-"

"It's not."

"What?"

"She's _not_, San. She's not Rachel. I don't know who she is. Hell, _she_ doesn't even know who she is, but she's not Rachel."

"Do you need me to go over there and help you pull your head out of your ass?"

"I'm serious, Santana."

"So am I. Look, Hudson. I don't really know what the hell is going on. So the doctor says maybe she's not who we think she is, I still call bullshit, because who just forgets her life like that? _But_, even if it's true. Even if she turns out to be some woman who like, ran away from her husband or something, that doesn't change the fact that for the last five years, she was my bestfriend. She's _still_ my bestfriend, because she's _still_ that same person no matter what her last name is."

"Corcoran."

"What?"

"Apparently her last name is Corcoran. That was what she said in between all the screaming anyway."

"I'll try and talk to her."

"Good luck with that."

"She doesn't scream at _me_. Then again, I'm not the one telling her she's been 'unfaithful' for the last four years and apparently also entering into bigamy with me."

"Funny."

"I'll talk to her, okay?"

He sighs at the soft tone of her voice, because when had his life become pathetic enough for Santana Lopez to be nice to him?

"Thanks San."

Xxx

"Kurt? You home?"

He sighs in relief when nobody answers, closing the door behind him as he leans against it. He drops his keys on the coffee table and lies down on the couch, closing his eyes almost immediately. His days are held together by moments like this, where it's quiet and peaceful and he gets just a few seconds to collect himself, to remind himself not to freak out.

He opens his eyes and his gaze falls onto the framed picture on the wall. It's a new one. She had made him put it up there when she moved in.

"_It's our first picture together_!" she had exclaimed when he asked her why.

"_But we weren't even together in this_!" he protested, to rile her up more than anything. She had rolled her eyes witheringly at him as she handed him the frame and a nail.

"_Just put it up. Besides, look at us. Nobody would know that anyway."_

He stares at the picture a little longer. She was right. They'd known each other for less than a week, but nobody would have known it with the way she held onto his arm, both of them grinning like idiots at the end of her first school year.

They'd think he's been in love with her all his life from that photo.

It's funny how he used to think he knew everything about her, everything that mattered anyway.

It turns out he doesn't know her. He doesn't know her at all.

xxx

"I don't know who you are Mr. Hudson," she tells him the next time he comes in. He brings her favourite desert, some health nut cake thing from the diner below their apartment, and Rachel, his Rachel or some other Rachel he doesn't know, seems to appreciate it.

It feels good to know that there's at least one thing about her that's the same, no matter who she is.

She speaks gently this time, almost civil for the first time in days. He nods his head silently from the other side of the room. She looks hesitantly at him, seemingly at war with herself before she sits up.

"If- if you're telling the truth-"

"I am," he answers, a little more forcefully than he intended. Their gazes hold for a few seconds as he tries to find any trace of _his_ Rachel somewhere.

"Santana says that I really love you," she tells him as she breaks her stare. "Well, what she actually said was that I spray you like a cat in heat every time we're together," she corrects, wrinkling her nose. "But apparently that's just how Santana speaks."

"You do," he answers quietly, stepping closer to stand at the foot of her bed.

"Really love you? Or spray you like a cat?"

She smiles as she says this, amused, and he chuckles, feeling the barrier between them finally breaking down.

"Both, really."

She laughs and he grins, relaxing.

"I'm sorry," she apologises when she sobers up. "You've been so patient with me, and I've been nothing but a heinous bitch to you all week."

"That's okay," he answers, shrugging. "Don't call yourself that. You just- you have a lot of things on your plate."

"Well actually, Santana was the one who called me that," Rachel answers, rolling her eyes. "But she was right. I was angry, and confused, and I took everything out on you."

He shrugs again. It's not like there's a whole lot he can say to that anyway. He can't be pissed at her 'cause it's not really her fault she can't remember. He's hurt more than anything, but again, he can't exactly blame her for not remembering him.

"It's just- you need to understand that it's not that easiest thing in the world for me to just believe you," she continues, as she moves to stand. He watches as she winces slightly, probably from the jostling her hurt arm. He would have helped her, but she wouldn't let him touch her, so he just watches as she gets to her feet and stands, looking up at him.

He says nothing, gripping the fabric of his jeans so hard his knuckles are white.

"But I don't- I don't _not_ believe you," she says softly, offering him a small smile, like it's some kind of consolation prize or something.

His fiancé doesn't not believe that they're engaged.

_Awesome_.

"Great."

She comes a little closer, and it hurts the way she touches his arm gently, like touching him didn't come as second nature to her. he barely moves, barely acknowledges her gesture because he gets the feeling that he knows what's coming next.

"But that- that doesn't change the fact that I'm married Finn," she continues gently. "Or that- that I have this whole life I just- just _left_."

She looks at him almost pleadingly, and he hears her. He hears everything the doctors have been telling him. He even listened to his mom when she told him that he needs to be careful. But listening and understanding is different from accepting, really. Because she's still here, and she speaks and looks and sounds like Rachel, and Rachel can't forget him, right? She could never forget _him_. Her hand is still carefully holding his arm, and without thinking, he grabs it in his, looking down at her earnestly.

"Are you sure? No, no hear me out," he continues hastily as she starts to speak. "I just meant- how do you know that it's real?"

"Of course I know!" she exclaims, pulling her hand out of his grasp to gesture wildly in front of her. "It's _my_ life! I'd remember something like that."

"Like you remember me?" he asks bitterly.

"Finn-"

"Forget it," he tells her quietly, turning away from the pity he sees on her face. With everything that's been going on, Rachel feeling sorry for him is the last thing he needs. The room is deathly quiet, tense as neither of them move.

"I need to know what happened Finn," she says at last. "I need to talk to Jesse."

Xxx

"Dr. Elliot tells me she's doing well," Dr. Wyatt says the moment he steps into the office.

"Yeah?" he responds half-heartedly as he sits down.

"She's alert, less confused it seems."

He nods. Dr. Wyatt's really not that bad, Finn figures, for someone who obviously spends more of his time doing anything other than interact with other people anyway.

"So what do we do?" he asks.

"I'd like for you to take note that Dr. Elliot is our most senior psychiatrist."

"Yes. You told me that."

"Well then, it's of her professional opinion that Miss Bery is of sound mind to make her own choices."

He says his words carefully, but that doesn't stop Finn from flinching in his seat.

"What about you? What do you think?"

"Well, physically speaking, she's healthy, except for the casualties she received from her accident. Other than that I have no opinion."

"That's your way of telling me I have to do what she wants, isn't it?"

"That's my way of telling you I have no opinion."

Xxx

He crushes the piece of paper in his hand for the tenth time as his other holds his phone.

He can't believe he's really doing this.

He hates her just a little for making him do this.

But he loves her too much not to do it anyway.

Opening his fist, he dials the number and presses the talk button quickly before he could change his mind.

He holds his breath, tapping his foot nervously as he waits for an answer, hoping like hell that nobody will.

Somebody picks up the receiver and he shuts his eyes in resignation.

This is it.

"Hello?"

"Is this Jesse? Jesse St. James?"

"Yes, that's me."

"My name is Finn Hudson. I'm calling to ask if you know someone called Rachel? Rachel Be- Corcoran. Rachel Corcoran."

He hears a quiet intake of breath, and the sinking feeling in his heart makes its way to the bottom of his stomach.

"I haven't heard that name in years."

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><p><strong>AN: Feedback is much appreciated, especially after this chapter =P**


	4. with or without you

**A/N: I realize that I'm losing the ability to string coherent words together. In other words, writer's block. Again.**

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><p>"<em>He learned to live with the truth. Not to accept it, but to live with it."<em>

_-Nicole Krauss, The History of Love_

* * *

><p>"I can't believe you're doing this."<p>

"Santana," he starts tiredly, ignoring the pointed look on her face as he leans back against the plastic seat of the cafeteria. "Drop it."

"I'm just saying," she answers, shrugging her shoulders in her attempt to be nonchalant. "I don't understand why you're doing this in the first place."

"It's what she wants. What else was I supposed to do?"

"You could _not_ call the douchebag," Santana says dryly.

"San, we don't even know him."

"Oh _please_ Stretch. Don't pretend for one second that you don't already hate his guts."

"Okay fine," he concedes,"I do, okay? I hate everything about this dude that I've never met, and even if he turns out to be the nicest guy in the world, I'll probably still hate him." She nods her head approvingly at this and he shakes his head. She still doesn't get it. What he feels is irrelevant. "But what does it matter?"

"It _matters_, because you could be using this time to convince her-"

"Convince her to do _what_?" he cuts in angrily, trying to contain his anger to keep himself from kicking over the chair next to him. "To remember me? That can't happen, apparently that's close to impossible. To like me? God forbid she spends even five _seconds_ to talk to me about something else _other_ than getting out of this place and getting on with her life. To love me? Because she doesn't even _know_ me. She doesn't want _me_, alright? She wants Jesse."

Blood is pumping rapidly in his veins, and he can feel the strain of the knot on his forehead. He doesn't even realize the volume of his own voice until he looks up to find the people around them trying their best to avert their gazes. Santana is quiet as she shakes her head at his words.

"She doesn't know what she wants."

Finn opens his mouth to retort, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees him.

He doesn't know exactly how he knows. Maybe it's in the way the perfectly coifed blonde head turns incessantly as he walks through the door, looking for someone. Maybe it's the way he looks ridiculously overdressed, because who wears a fancy jacket to a hospital, anyway? Maybe it's just the intense dislike that he's inexplicably feeling right now. Whatever it is, he just does.

It's Jesse St. James.

He turns to look at Santana, who in turn is looking curiously back at him.

"Well," he says quietly. "I guess we'll find out soon enough."

Xxx

Santana sits next to him, glaring daggers at the oblivious man before him. Jesse looks like he has trouble actually believing that all of this is happening, and Finn couldn't really blame the guy. Life still feels like he took one loopy trip down the twilight zone, and he's just going through the motions. Finn has to hand it to the guy though, a lesser man would have been dust by now under the nothing but hostile glare Santana has been shooting him the moment he arrived.

"So," Jesse starts, his eyes wide. "So you're telling me that Rachel is really here? My Rachel?"

The vein that had been throbbing in his forehead feels like it's about to burst as Finn grips the bottom of his chair to stop himself from doing something stupid. Like beat the shit out of the guy's pretty face until he takes those words back.

"I guess so," he says levelly instead. Jesse lets out a slow whistle, shaking his head.

"Well I'll be damned. This is crazy."

"She's not, just so you know," Finn says quickly, his voice terse. "Rachel, I mean. She's not crazy."

"No, I suppose not," Jesse murmurs thoughtfully. "I saw Dr. Wyatt earlier. He's explained things. It's all very dramatic, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just... This whole situation. Thinking she's dead, and all the while she's just two hours away, living another life completely. It's the stuff soap operas are made of. She used to love those."

"This isn't a movie," Finn says, frowning. "It's real."

"Yes, obviously, I know that it is. I'm just saying-"

"Why didn't you look for her?" Finn cuts in, asking the first question that had popped up in his head the second he was calm enough to think properly. "I mean, you're her husband-"

"_Was_, her husband. And I- we all thought she had died. We found her car submerged at the bottom of the river Finn, and we couldn't find her anywhere. It was the most natural assumption."

"Yeah, but you never found her body. Why-"

"We looked for almost a month. At some point, it was just kinder on all of us to let it go."

"It wasn't kind to her," he answers tersely. Jesse looks at him grimly, staring him down. The man looks away when he realises he won't win, chuckling humourlessly.

"I won't feel guilty for something out of my control, Finn. It's easier to think that you'll be that noble when it didn't happen to you."

"It's not about being noble," he says impatiently. "It's about doing all that you can for the person you love. I wouldn't have left her the way you did because I love her too much to let her go like that."

Jesse's jaw locks at his words, but Finn's not about to back down.

"How romantic of you," the other man sneers. "Too bad you're not the one she's married to. I am."

"_Was_." They both look away from each other, turning to Santana who smiles acidly at the man in front of her. "Wasn't that what you said, or is all that gel in your hair messing with your brain?"

Finn almost smiles at that, but he places a hand on her thigh under the table instead. This is his battle. Jesse, on the other hand, looks affronted for about five seconds before he shakes his head, rolling his eyes.

"I don't believe it's necessary for me to receive your verbal insults any longer. Obviously, none of you know my wife all that well, because you would have realized that finding Rachel dead wouldn't really have been all that surprising, she was already halfway there anyway. But oh wait, neither of you know her, not really. Because she hadn't been herself had she?"

Finn ignores the comeback, his attention focused on Jesse's earlier words.

"What are you talking about?" he demands. "What do you mean halfway there?"

Jesse shoots him a superior look.

"That's none of your business Hudson. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll pay my estranged wife a visit."

He moves to stand, but Finn's grip on his wrist stops him.

"Let me go."

"Tell me what you meant."

"That's a private matter between us-"

"I make it my business to know everything about my fiancé Jesse."

"Ah," Jesse sighs mockingly, pulling his hand forcefully out of Finn's grasp. "Therein lays your tragedy Hudson. She's not your fiancé anymore."

He's never felt such blinding hatred for anyone in his life the way he's feeling it right now as he watches the man walk away, his hands gripping the table in a half stand.

"He's a fucking asshole," Santana spits out. He doesn't think they've ever agreed on anything more.

Xxx

Jesse's been in her room for hours. He's been loitering just outside the door for the last two. The nurses are all looking at him funny, but he ignores them. He doesn't know what's going on. He doesn't understand how someone like Rachel could have ever chosen to be with someone like that douchebag, no matter what she was like. Who knows what they're talking about in there? What if they're talking about that thing Jesse said, about Rachel being halfway close to death. What the hell was that supposed to mean anyway?

He can't take the waiting anymore.

Taking a deep breath, he hesitates for just a second before he knocks swiftly on the door. He enters before she says he can.

His breath catches in his throat when he sees her holding _his_ hand.

She lets go immediately when she sees him, but he can't seem to get that image out of his head.

"Finn!" she calls out, surprised. She smiles at him, the usual friendly smile he's been on the receiving end of these days. She looks at Jesse and her smile changes, and it kills him just a little, because he _knows_ that smile. He misses that smile. "Finn, this is Jesse-"

"I know," he says, his voice tense.

"We've met," Jesse tells her, smiling. He nods at Finn, and it was all that he could do not to sock him in the jaw.

"Oh," she answers, looking between them uncomfortably. "You didn't tell me that."

"It was just for a second, right Finn?"

"Hmm."

"I should get going Rachel."

"Already?" she asks, disappointed.

"Yeah, but what we talked about-"

"I know," she answers, smiling. Jesse stands from the chair he was sitting on, and Finn grips the side of his jeans tightly, he does that a lot these days, as the man leans over to kiss her cheek.

"I still can't believe it's you," Jesse whispers as he pulls away.

"Everything about this is hard to believe," she tells him ruefully. Finn reciprocates a stiff nod when Jesse acknowledges him as he leaves. He hears the click of the door and turns to find her staring at it. He grits his teeth in an effort to keep his temper down.

Rachel turns to smile at him, and he forces himself to calm down.

"So what did you talk about?" he asks, trying to be nonchalant.

"Just... stuff." She answers vaguely, refusing to look at him.

"You should know that your secrecy is killing me," he tells her honestly, unable to hold himself back any longer. She looks up at him, and he tries to ignore the trace of sadness on her face.

"Finn-"

"I don't like him."

"He's my husband."

"He's an asshole."

"Finn Hudson!" She looks outraged as makes a move to stand, but so what? He is too.

"He's a jerk Rachel! Did you know he stopped looking for you after a month? A _month_? What the hell is that-"

"You don't know anything-"

"I don't need to, to know that when your wife goes missing, you try like hell to find her!" He knows he hit a nerve because she flinches at this, but he pushes the guilt away because he knows what she's going to do.

She's going to leave him. She's going to leave him to go back with that jackass, back to her old life, and he can't let her do that. He _won't_ let her do that.

"He thought I was dead-"

"That's not an excuse! Hell Rachel, you barely know I exist, but I'm still here, aren't I? This is what you do for the people you love. You _wait_ for them. You- you look for them when they go missing, you- you _find_ them-"

"I'm not missing Finn!" she yells, cutting him off. There are tears in her eyes as she looks at him, and it takes him about a second to realize that everything's blurry because they're in his too. "Don't you get that? I'm _not_ missing."

Her voice trembles as she speaks, her tone soft as if that will sooth the blow of her words.

"You can't- you can't find me, because _this_," she points to herself, her words barely audible from her tears. He can barely see her, he's trying so hard to just _not_- he doesn't want this conversation. But he can't look away from her. "This is who I am. That woman you love so, _so_ much, she's not coming back, okay? She's gone, and she'll never come back and she took all your memories with her, and I don't have anything. I have _nothing _to give you. You can wait all you want, but she's never coming back, and you! You keep making me _hope_ that she will-"

"Rachel-"

"You keep making me think that if I just try hard enough I will, but I _don't_. I can't. And I'm tired of trying for something that will never happen, because it hurts!"

She sags against the bed and he rushes closer, holding an arm out to steady her as she sobs. He pulls her towards him, and she doesn't fight it this time as she presses herself closer to his chest. It's weird how his heart hurts _so_ much, every single word she says feels like a gunshot straight through his chest, but her presence, the way her fingers curl into his waist and the warmth of her body presses against his is a source of comfort, an anchor that keeps him from completely losing it.

"Ssh," he whispers, rubbing circles against her back as a shuddering sob rips through her. She can't seem to stop shaking as she breaks down in his arms, like she's finally allowing the entirety of the situation to weigh down on her. The weight is heavy, but he's prepared to weather it with her. He always has been.

"I-" she hiccups, her voice muffled against his shirt. "I can't-"

"Ssh baby, it's okay. Just- I'm here, okay? I'm right here," he whispers furiously against the top of her head, hugging her as tight as he possibly can. She shakes her head against his chest, but she doesn't let go, and he doesn't either.

His heart still _hurts_, but it's cathartic as he cries with her, his frustrations ebbing away with his tears.

Xxx

They find themselves on the floor, exhausted as they quietly breathe. His shirt is still damp from her tears and his eyes feel heavy, but she's still in his arms and he'll stay this way forever just as long as she doesn't let go.

But she does.

"You need to leave," she whispers, her voice cracked and hoarse as she finally pulls away. She tenses when he swipes a thumb gently under her eye. "It's getting late."

He watches her stand, carefully pulling herself up with one hand. He doesn't try to help her, because the moment has passed, and she has that mask back on. She refuses to look at him when he stands and stretches his legs.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he tells her back quietly. He turns to walk out the door, his steps heavy as he reaches it.

"You need to forget me Finn," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "Like I've forgotten you."

He shuts his eyes as his teeth clench.

She's doing this on purpose. She's hurting him to push him away, because she wants him to give up.

Because she doesn't know him yet to know that he'll never give her up.

He's _not_ giving up.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Xxx

His head hurts.

He stares at the redness around his eyes as he looks into the mirror, his fingers gripping the edges of the sink.

He rubs his face furiously, hoping to rub away that haggard look, but it doesn't work. He still looks about as tired as he feels.

He needs a fucking drink.

"Finn?"

He groans as he hears his brother's voice screaming his name from the living room.

So much for that drink.

He steps out of the bathroom after washing his face furiously, the excess water flattening his dark brown hair against his temple.

"Hey," he says, attempting a smile at Kurt who's busily arranging takeout boxes on the dinner table.

"It's Thai food day. I got you chicken Pad Thai."

He wrinkles his nose.

"What's that?"

"The best thing you'll ever taste," Kurt says, motioning for him to sit down. He does so obediently, taking the box from Kurt's hands.

"That's what you said about Sushi. And I can still taste that raw shit in my mouth."

"Salmon is a delicacy Finn. We need to insert some class in that tongue of yours."

"I'll take my tongue classless, thanks," he mutters, frowning at the foreign... _stuff_ in front of him.

"Just eat it," Kurt says, rolling his eyes.

What the heck. It's not like he's all that hungry anyways. He grabs a fork, stabbing a piece of chicken.

"So how was your day?" Kurt asks as he shoves a forkful of noodle into his mouth.

"Long," he says through his mouthful of food.

"How's Rachel?"

"I don't really want to talk about it when I'm trying to eat Kurt."

"Fine, fine. You know, I'd visit her myself, if you weren't so sure that she'll lose it and freak out."

"_Kurt_."

"Okay. _Fine_. We'll just sit here and eat in complete silence like a bunch of Buddhist monks."

"Thanks," Finn answers, rolling his eyes.

Kurt says nothing, but the look on his face tells Finn that he is not pleased.

"This is pretty good," he concedes, trying to make amends. His brother tries and fails to hide his smile.

"There's hope for you yet Finn Hudson."

Xxx

His eyes shift away from Kurt's thoughtful gaze down to the half empty can in his hands. Somewhere between his second beer and Kurt's first glass of wine, he's managed to spill his guts like a prisoner of war tortured for information. And all Kurt had to do was to keep plying him with those drinks. He's on his fifth, his last words hanging in the air between them.

"_She wants me to let her go."_

"What are you thinking?" he asks, a slight slur to his voice from the beer that's taking its toll on him.

"Nothing."

"You're thinking _something_. You have that look on your face."

"I'm not, it's not my place-" He snorts, rolling his eyes at Kurt's slightly disparaged look. "What look, pray tell?"

"That look when you're dying to tell me what to do, but you know it's none of your damn business."

"Oh. Well. That look."

"Uh-huh. Just spit it out."

"You won't like it," Kurt warns. He snorts, using his long leg to kick Kurt's folded neatly next to his.

"Great. Then it'll just about fit the rest of my fucking life right now. _What,_ Kurt? Stop giving me that look. I _hate_ that look."

Kurt sighs, putting his glass of wine carefully down on the coffee table.

"I know you love her," he starts.

"I do."

"And I know how much she loved you. You were, you were _perfect_ together. Admittedly, she took some getting used to, but we all learned to love Rachel, you know that."

"What's your point Kurt?" he asks, tense. Kurt says nothing for the longest time, and Finn can practically see him weighing his words carefully in his head.

"That woman, the one in the hospital. She's not Rachel, Finn."

"Shut up."

"She's not the Rachel that we _know_-"

"Shut up Kurt!"

"You need to accept this. You need to- you need to let-"

"I swear to God Kurt, I will hit you," he warns, his hands already balling themselves into fists. Kurt stops at that. But a determined look takes over his features, and before Finn could react, he says it.

"We know you love her Finn," his brother says gently, placing a firm hand on one trembling fist. "You love her so much you'll give her _anything_ she wanted. It's just- do you love her enough to let her go?"

The coffee table overturns, and he vaguely hears the sound of the wineglass breaking into jagged pieces. It feels like a literal slap to the face as Kurt backs away a little, alarmed.

"You don't know shit about anything," he says, his voice low with controlled fury.

"Finn-"

"Fuck you."

Xxx

He lied when he told her he'll see her the next day.

He spends the whole day holed up in his room instead, wallowing in his own misery.

He wonders if she'll notice his absence.

Xxx

He spends his second day on the floor, making a mess out of the trunk in front of their bed.

He's still not speaking to Kurt, who finally gave up his attempts at reconciliation when Finn turned down his twentieth plea for a do-over. He left almost two hours before Finn padded out into the living room, determinedly ignoring the breakfast laid out on the table as he made his coffee. He's vaguely aware that he's acting like a child, but a line had been crossed and he's still furious.

As he aimlessly flips through the scrapbook of them that Rachel had painstakingly spent two weeks making after she moved in, his fingers freeze at the fifth page to stare at a photo of them taken a few months back.

Her smile is blinding as she held on to his arm in a death grip, her eyes wide with anticipation as they stand just under the theatre sign on her first day of work. An almost smile graces his lips as he thinks of it, but reality catches up quick, and in an instant the memory leaves a dull throb in his chest.

_He sees her looking up at the worn out sign of the theatre, her hands clasped nervously in front of her, eyes wide in awe. Grinning to himself, he shifts closer, nudging her playfully._

"_Nervous?" he whispers as he leans down._

"_For my first stage debut?" she asks, still fixated on the sign above them. "Of course not."_

_He chuckles as she turns to shoot him a grimace. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he forces her to face him, moving his hands down her arms to gather at her waist, looping his forefingers through the belt loops of her jacket to pull her closer._

"_Hey," he starts seriously, leaning down to look her in the eye. "You're going to be the best Dancer number 12 this world will ever see."_

_She scowls, narrowing her eyes at his straight face._

"_Finn Hudson, are you making fun of me?"_

"_I wouldn't dare," he answers, shaking his head as he smiles. "Wouldn't want you to forget me when you become a famous celebrity. Where else am I gonna find another crazy talented hottie to mooch off of? A teacher's salary is hardly enough for the lifestyle we're planning to have you know."_

_Her tense face breaks into a smile as he tugs at a lock of her hair._

"_You're ridiculous," she tells him affectionately, wrapping her arms around him to pull him down for a kiss._

"_No," he mumbles, pulling away just an inch. "You are if you think you're going to do anything less than blow these people out of the water when they see you."_

"_You have a way with words Hudson," she teases, smiling as she presses herself closer to him._

"_Only with you Berry,"_

"_You two make me sick."_

_They pull apart, turning to look at Santana, rolling her eyes behind them as she makes a face._

"_We love you too, San," Rachel retorts sweetly._

"_PDA is so passé Berry."_

"_Says the girl who got detained for having __**sex**__ in a park."_

"_Wait- what?" Finn asks, wincing at the whiplash he received from turning his head too fast._

_Santana shoots him a withering glance, holding up Rachel's Polaroid._

"_Hurry up so I can take this stupid picture already. And don't be getting up in each other's grills while I'm snapping, or I swear I'mma burn this picture along with this camera."_

"_She's a little sensitive these days," Rachel whispers apologetically as she wraps her arms around his and turns to smile at the camera._

"_Really?" he whispers back sarcastically. "I barely noticed, she's been such a joy all morning."_

_Rachel giggles as Santana snaps their picture, turning up to grin at him._

"_For the record, I would never forget you, so don't you even dare entertain for __**one**__ second, the thought of finding some floozy to replace me, or I will kill you myself."_

_Her eyes are twinkling as she says this, but he knows she's only half joking. He laughs as he shakes her hand._

"_Deal."_

He sighs, hesitating, before peeling the photo off the page.

Kurt's words play over and over in his mind like a song he can't seem to shake off.

Maybe he's already starting to give up before he knows it.

Xxx

He looks down at the small, white envelope in his hand as he takes a deep breath. He looks back up at the ominous door standing between them, and somehow he just knows that this is the make it or break it moment. Steeling himself, he knocks quickly before he enters.

She sits up when she sees him, her face registering surprise and something else he can't quiet decipher.

"Hi," she says, her voice soft. He wonders why she looks so bewildered. Did she think he was never coming again?

"Hi," he answers, standing awkwardly by the door.

"You haven't been around."

"Yeah. I was- I was busy."

"Oh." She hesitates, looking away before she looks back at him. "I'm glad you're here."

"Are you really?"

"Yes," she answers empathically, offering him a small smile. He returns it, her sincerity soothing his gaping wound just a little.

"Well," he says. "Here I am."

Xxx

Their small talk is starting to taper off. There's not really all that much to talk about when she hasn't been anywhere but the hospital for weeks with her memory wiped clean.

Actually, he thinks wryly, there's a hell of a whole lot to talk about. If she'd just give him a chance. They sit quietly in their positions, him on the visitor's chair, eyes locked on her movements, and her on the bed, eyes looking anywhere but at him.

"Finn," she starts softly, finally looking up. Something in her eyes is telling him that this is it. Or maybe it's in the way her voice trembles. He braces himself. "I'm going home."

"Oh," he answers stupidly when she says nothing else. It's not that he never saw this coming, because everyone with the exception of Santana has been forcing him to see it. But really, what is there to say?

"With Jesse," she clarifies. As if he doesn't already know, as if there really is something for him to say other than the same thing he's been telling her all this while, all his different variations of _"don't go". "Stay"._

Maybe there's one more.

"What happens if I say no?"

"Finn," she starts, and he can see that this is hard for her. "_Please_."

"What if I won't let you go?" he asks, clenching the envelope in his hand as she straightens up in indignation.

"I'm not yours to let go," she retorts.

Her eyes grow wide as she gasps, clasping a hand over her mouth, and even though he knows she wasn't thinking, it doesn't hurt any less.

"Finn-"

"Oh," he snickers. "Right."

"I'm sor-"

"I forgot about that. I guess you're not the only one with the bad memory."

She shakes her head, refusing to take his bait.

"I'm not getting into a fight with you."

"Why?" he challenges angrily. "Because you're afraid I'll change your mind?"

"No. Because I know you won't."

He's clenching his fists so hard, he feels his nails digging into his skin as she looks back at him. He's trying to read her, but her face is saying a million different things he just can't seem to understand.

He can't read her anymore.

Because she's not the same person.

"Well you've always been stubborn," he says, moving to stand up. He needs to leave. "That never changed."

"Finn-"

"I guess this is goodbye."

"Finn-"

He thrusts the envelope into her hand before he has the time to think, talking quickly and saying the first words that come to him because he just can't afford to stop and think anything right now.

"This is for you. I don't even know why I brought this here, really. Maybe I just thought that if you could- you could see us, you'll see things my way, but I guess that's pointless now-"

"Finn-"

"It's a picture, by the way. You can do whatever you want with it. Keep it, burn it, it doesn't matter it's yours."

His words run over one another as he steps back, turning away from her quickly, his steps controlled and calculated as he makes his way to the door, trying his best to hold himself together, trying to stop his body from shaking too much, his heart from breaking too hopelessly.

"I leave in three days," she speaks up and he freezes. He hears the slight desperation in her voice, but he doesn't turn around. "Will you- Will I see you before I leave?"

"I think you can spare me _that_ heartache," he answers bitterly, closing his eyes. "Can't you, Rachel?"

"I- Of- of course," she stammers. "Sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

He can't turn around. He can't have his last memory of Rachel Berry be that she felt sorry for him. He doesn't think he can take her feeling sorry for him.

"I hope you have a good life Rachel," he whispers. He thinks he hears her whispering an apology, but that's the last thing he needs. He ignores the rustling he hears behind him, his hand reaching out for the door.

"Finn."

He stops, frozen.

"Was I-" her voice is small as she hesitates. "Did I make you happy?"

He lets out a shaky breath, hating her just a little because she can't seem to let him leave this room with his emotions intact.

His step falters as he turns. She's staring meaningfully at him from across the room, like his answer is the most important thing in the world. Her eyes are glassy as she holds on tightly to the photo in her hands.

It hits him like million arrows to the heart that this will probably be the last time he sees her.

He _hates_ her.

He hates her for forgetting him.

He hates her for not remembering, for not trusting someone she thinks is a complete stranger, because that someone is _him_ and she's supposed to trust _him._

He hates her for taking away his home, because that's what she is.

But mostly, mostly he hates her because she made him love her, because he loves her _so_ much, and he can't just walk away.

Her eyes grow wider with each determined step he takes. He's not thinking. He can't think right now.

He reaches closer, close enough to touch her.

"What are you doing?" she whispers as he towers over her.

She'll remember him, even if it's only for today, she'll remember him.

Reaching out, he grabs her by her shoulders to pull her closer as he leans down, pausing for only a millisecond to gauge her reaction.

She closes her eyes, and he dives in headfirst, tunnelling his fingers through her long hair as their lips meet.

He kisses her softly, trying to commit to memory the feel of her lips, the way her lashes brush against his skin as she stays frozen.

He pulls her closer.

Small, warm fingers wrap a fistful of his shirt, and she's pulling him in, sighing against him as she opens her mouth, reciprocating, pressing harder.

_This_ still feels the same. _She_ still tastes the same.

He forgets himself for a moment, forgets where they are and where they stand, when she opens her mouth, allowing him to deepen their kiss, pressing herself closer as his hand moves from the nape of her neck to the curve of her jaw.

The warmth of her tears against his cheek reels him back into reality and Finn pulls away with a gasp, breathing hard against her mouth, their foreheads still pressed together. She takes one long, shuddering breath as her fingers disentangle themselves from the death grip they had on his arm, and he releases her, stepping back completely.

He feels the pieces of his heart, held back together only a few seconds ago, start to disintegrate once again at the look on her face.

He shoots her a defeated smile, the back of his eyes burning.

"You made me the happiest," he tells her earnestly.

He turns around before she could say anything else, walking swiftly towards the door as his vision starts to blur.

He doesn't tell her he loves her.

He doesn't have to.

Xxx

The next three days go by in a blur as he returns to work. He tried not to, but he kept living in the future, kept waiting for the day she'll leave him for good.

He has absolutely no intention of being there when she finally goes, leaving his heart behind. But that doesn't mean he could ever stop thinking about it either. And when the day finally arrives, he's sitting in a bar, eyes glued to the clock as he nurses his third drink. It's five minutes past six. He wonders if she's left.

He vaguely feels someone sliding into the empty stool next to him, but his eyes still watch the clock, subconsciously counting the seconds as it moves.

"Over here, Stiffy."

He turns to find Santana eyeing the bartender with a bored look on her face. She doesn't turn to look back, but he knows she's here to find him.

"Hey San," he mumbles, his voice a little slurry.

"I thought I'd find you here. You're so boringly predictable Hudson."

"I'm not that predictable," he mumbles, sharing a commiserating look with the bartender when Santana shoots the poor kid another disdainful look. "I fell in love with a woman who can't remember me. That's not predictable at all."

Santana shakes her head, pushing her glass towards his, knocking them together.

"She left," she tells him after she downs her shot. He says nothing to that, tearing his eyes away from the clock completely. "You know, she waited for you."

"I told her I wouldn't be there."

"Yeah, well she waited for you anyway."

Her tone is a little accusing, and he tries his best to be patient. He doesn't have the energy it takes to argue.

"Well she left anyway," he answers tiredly. "She's gone back to her 'real' life, right? Back to whoever the hell she really is. Face it Santana, we were just placeholders, the replacements for the people she left."

"Screw that. I'm nobody's replacement," Santana mutters, glaring at him. He smiles wryly, shaking his head.

"No," he murmurs. "You're probably not. I guess it was just me."

She says nothing to that, and he shrugs, the right side of his lips pulling up in resignation.

"Your pity party sucks Stretch."

"You know, if you're trying to make me feel better, you're failing miserably."

"I'm not," she tells him bluntly "I won't bother trying, because what the hell could I say to make you feel better anyway? And even if I did have something, you deserve to wallow."

"Thanks, I guess."

"I came to give you something."

He looks up at her curiously. The way she can't seem to look him in the eye clues him in immediately.

He wonders how it's still possible for a heart this broken to still feel that sharp twist.

She says nothing as she reaches into the pocket of her jacket, fishing out a small velvet pouch. Placing it on the table, she pushes it towards him.

"_It's called a Claddagh ring. Did you know that?"_

"_They're going to be my family too you know_."

He feels his vision start to blur again as the memory of that night returns, and he shakes his head, refusing to cry. He tries to chuckle, but his voice comes out a little strangled as he runs a finger over the velvet fabric.

"Of course," he says, "I forgot all about this."

He picks it up, pressing it into the palm of his hand, feeling the shape of the ring through the pouch. He vaguely feels her hand on his shoulder.

"I'll see you around Finn."

Her words don't register, and he barely hears her leaving as his eyes fixate on the ring he's taken out.

She gave him back his heart.

He just wishes he knows what to do with it now.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So I lied. There's one final chapter coming. **


	5. Love, the kind you give away

**A/N: It's true, the muse is a heinous controlling bitch, and I have no absolutely no say in what I write.**

* * *

><p>He tries to move on.<p>

He kicks Kurt out, back to his boyfriend, and goes to work, pretending like he's not still hung up on the girl who doesn't want him. The kids help a little, and the drinks help a lot more, but it's been close to two months, and life still feels like one giant black hole almost all of the time.

He fends off his mom's offer for a visit daily and smiles and laughs like he's a normal, functioning human being, but there's a room full of her things in his apartment that he keeps locked and every day is a battle of trying to forget that the key exists.

He tries to forget her like she wants him to, but it's hard when she's embedded in every single part of him.

Xxx

Kurt tries to get him to start dating after the three month mark. He manages to evade for two whole weeks, before his brother finally catches him unawares.

"You trapped me," he hisses under his breath to Kurt when he sees Blaine entering the restaurant, his arms around a young, pretty blonde. Kurt merely rolls his eyes, patting his thigh.

"Don't be dramatic Finn," he whispers before turning towards his boyfriend, grinning wide.

"Sorry we're a little late," Blaine says apologetically, slipping into the booth next to Kurt, kissing him on the cheek, leaving the woman to stand alone.

"It's only five minutes," Kurt answers airily. "We'll live, right Finn? And you must be Quinn!"

Kurt stands, bending forwards to shake her hand across the table.

"I am," she answers, smiling. She turns to smile at him, and he nods, forcing a small one in return. She holds out her hand towards him and he takes it, shaking it firmly and letting go.

"Finn," Kurt says, about as obvious as a straight dude in a gay bar. "Scoot over and give her some room."

He tries not to glare as he moves. He should have known something was fishy when Kurt told him he wanted them to meet up at a karaoke bar. His brother _hates_ booth seats.

She slips in next to him, and he unwittingly flinches when their thighs touch.

It's going to be a _long_ night.

Xxx

He stares on, snickering to himself as an obviously drunk Kurt latches himself onto his boyfriend, ending their duet on a note high enough to get the dogs howling.

"They _really_ like to sing," Quinn comments, taking a sip of her beer.

"You have no idea," he answers wryly. "He and Rachel used to-"

He stops when he realizes what he just said. Quinn's still looking at him, her blue-green eyes alert, but when he stops and just smiles, she grins, shaking her head.

"Let me guess," she says. "Rachel's her name, that girl you're still hung up on."

"I'm sorry they made you do this," he apologizes. "I swear, if I knew, I wouldn't be here."

"Well that's comforting," she jokes as he mentally slaps himself.

"_No_," he says helplessly, trying to backtrack "No I meant that I don't want to lead you on, I'm not interested. Not- not that you're not interesting. You're very pretty Quinn, and I'm sure you're awesome, but I-"

He stops when her face breaks into a smile and she starts laughing.

"I'm just going to shut up now," he mumbles, feeling the back of his neck starting to blush. She giggles, putting one hand on his arm for support. _Seriously_. It's not that funny.

"You know, Blaine told me you needed a good rebound," she tells him once she's calmed down.

"Did he tell you everything?"

"Nope, just that this Rachel did quite a number on you, and well, I can see that. You can relax Finn," she continues, smiling at him. "I'm not planning to tie you up to my bedpost anytime soon. Although, yes I am awesome, and you'll be a lucky guy if I do."

"Oh," he answers awkwardly, "So um- they're not trying to set us up?"

"They are, but I'm on the rebound too, and I figured it's better to hook up with someone who's on the same page, you know?"

"Oh. Okay. But erm- I'm not-"

"Not interested in rebound sex?" she asks wryly.

"Sorry," he apologizes. She shakes her head, grinning at him.

"You're worse off than I thought," she tells him, smiling wryly. "And I thought _I_ was bad."

"What's your story?" he asks curiously, finally relaxing now that _that's_ over and done with. She shakes her head, rolling her eyes.

"He's called Noah," she starts dryly, but he could see the fire burning in her eyes as she smirks. "But people call him Puck 'cause he's an _idiot_. He's an asshole and a bad mistake, and that's all you need to know."

He stares at her thoughtfully, ignoring Kurt and Blaine's painfully drunk rendition of I've got you babe.

"Bad break up huh?"

"Well, if you think smashing his prized guitar into pieces and burning all his clothes is bad, then yes," she answers, her tone menacing as her eyes gleam. _Shit_, he feels uncomfortable. He inches away discreetly.

"What about you?" she asks, downing the rest of her drink in one gulp, slamming the glass in the table. "Bad break up?"

He says nothing for a moment. He's never really talked about it before, never mentioned it at all since it happened. Not that he really needed to, since it was all anyone wanted to talk about for the first few weeks. For some reason, they seem to think that he needed to do something big. Have an epic breakdown, freak out in the middle of the school hallway or something, and it worried them when the worst thing he did was lock himself up in his room for hours at a time.

Quinn's looking at him curiously, and he guesses that he owes her about as much as she gave him.

"I wouldn't say we broke up, exactly," he tells her, shrugging.

"That's vague." He tries to smile, taking a long drink of his beer before he continues.

"She just... forgot me." She waits for him to continue, but he offers no further explanation. She nods, and turns back towards the stage. They sit side by side in silence, watching Kurt and Blaine go through another round of social suicide.

"Love sucks," Quinn yells in his ear through the noise.

"Yep."

Xxx

Kurt stops trying to set him up a few days before Christmas, announcing out loud on the plane back to Lima that he's done trying to help.

It feels like an early Christmas present.

Xxx

He gets into a funk on Christmas Eve. He's trying his best not to let it show, because if his mom suspects, than she'll latch onto him and never let go, and then he'll never be able to move past it if. He can't help himself though. He keeps remembering that this is supposed to be their last Christmas before being married. He's spent the last four Christmases of his life with her in it, because she didn't have her own family, and now he knows why. She had her own ornaments, a pair of white doves and a silver, shimmery star he bought her the first time she came. He can't find them anywhere; his mom must have hidden them. Or thrown them away.

He catches his mom as he walks down the stairs before Christmas dinner, staring sadly at the fireplace, sighing. He thinks he knows what she's seeing.

It's the empty space next to his stocking.

He walks quietly up towards her, and she jumps when he wraps one arm around her shoulders.

"Finn," she admonishes. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

He doesn't say a word, pulling her into a tight hug as he rests his chin on her shoulder.

"I'll be fine mom," he tells her quietly. She freezes before she starts to tremble and he hears her take a shaky breath.

"I know you will honey," she whispers, leaning back to kiss his cheek. He looks down at her teary face and tries to smile, using his thumb to wipe the moisture under her eyes.

"Merry Christmas mama."

He'll move on.

He has to.

Xxx

He gets the call once he's stepped off the plane, just as he makes his way to the baggage claim. He answers the phone unaware, and when he hears the voice, stops abruptly, his hand clenching his phone tighter.

"What the hell do you want?" he asks, his voice tight. Kurt turns to give him a questioning look, but he ignores his brother.

"We started off on the wrong foot," Jesse St. James continues, and Finn thinks he almost sounds sincere. "I apologize for the things I've said. I admit, they were harsh and uncalled for, and I said them out of anger. But I would like to see you."

"Why?"

"I see you still haven't forgiven me," the man says dryly after he barks out his question. "Let's call a truce Hudson."

"For _what_?"

"For Rachel."

xxx

He steps into the restaurant cautiously, having half a mind to just walk back out. He doesn't know why he's doing this to himself. Didn't he just resolve, back at Christmas, that he was going to move on? God, what if she's here? He doesn't know what he'll do if he sees her.

He spots the back of Jesse's head (he'd recognize that annoyingly perfect blonde head anywhere), and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that he's alone. He can't seem to explain that sinking feeling in his heart though.

"Hi," he says when he reaches the man, trying hard to be civil. Jesse looks up and smiles, and he finds that he's still having a hard time trying not to sock the guy in the face.

"Finn," Jesse greets. "Sit down."

He obliges, sitting down in front of Jesse, shaking his head as a waiter comes near them.

"So what do you want?" he asks bluntly.

"This will be much easier if you're not so hostile."

"Yeah, well, it'll be much easier for me if never existed, so tough luck, I guess."

Jesse shakes his heads, smiling wryly as he takes a bite of his food. Finn taps his foot impatiently.

"I'm here to talk about Rachel."

"What about her?"

Jesse looks at him carefully.

"First off I'd like to apologize for belittling your presence in her life-"

"Shit, stop apologizing," he mutters.

"But I am, sorry I mean. She didn't like it when she found out what I said."

"Well, I guess I'm sorry for calling you a heartless bastard."

"You didn't call me that," Jesse says, frowning.

"Didn't I? I must have thought it."

"Look, in light of how things are, I guess you deserve an explanation. About us. About Rachel, and- and what triggered her episode I suppose."

He frowns, leaning forwards in his seat.

"I'm listening."

Xxx

"I've known her my whole life. Her mom worked for my parents. They have a school. Shelby is- _was_- a vocal coach," Jesse explains at his questioning look. Finn nods.

"I guess that's where her singing comes from."

"What are you talking about?" Jesse asks, confused.

"Rachel's voice."

"Rachel doesn't sing," Jesse scoffs. He frowns. Is the dude trying to play some kind of crazy trick on him or something?

"You're kidding me, right? She _lives_ for singing. If she could have found a way to speak to you in song she would have."

Jesse shakes his head empathically.

"They told me she'd be a different person," he says slowly. "I didn't think she'd be _**that**_ different. The Rachel I knew, _this_ Rachel, she doesn't sing."

"Why not? She's amazing."

"I think it was her mom. I've never seen a vocal coach who hated her job more than she did, which was a shame, because she was good, when she didn't terrify the living daylights out of her students. Anyway," Jesse continues as his mind reels with the information. "She was a weird little kid," Jesse says almost fondly. "We used to play together all the time, but I never really noticed her, you know, that way. She was like, the only girl in high school who still wore knee socks with sweater vests, and she never gave a damn what anyone thought of her. And then- and then we grew up-"

"Listening about how the two of you fell in love is the _last_ thing I want to hear right now, no offense."

"And _then_ we grew up," Jesse continues, ignoring him. "And I went to college and I didn't see her for years. And then we were twenty one, and her mom died. It was just two of them, for years, and when Shelby passed away, she didn't have anyone."

"What happened?" Finn asks softly.

"Car crash. She ran into a tree. Some people said it was on purpose, but try telling Rachel that and she'll quite literally beat the living crap out of you."

"Why the hell would people say something like that in the first place anyway?" he asks angrily.

"Because-" Jesse looks at him hesitantly. "It wasn't such a stretch of the imagination to believe that."

"So she is an orphan," Finn mutters quietly. He thinks of her, picturing her all alone, it hurts him.

"I guess she was. I never really thought about it. But my parents felt sorry for her, and they took her in, she'll be around during all the holidays, and- I'll spare you the details- we grew closer. We were so young when we got married. I don't think either of us really knew what we were doing."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Because she was pregnant."

His blood runs cold as he stares at the man in front of him.

"She- you- you have a kid together."

"We don't," Jesse answers, shaking his head. He's confused.

"But you said-"

"We lost the baby. It- _She_- was a stillborn."

"_God_," Finn breathes out, leaning back against his seat. "I'm sorry."

He means it. He's _so_ sorry, for her, for Jesse, who shrugs his shoulders, smiling wryly.

"She never got over that, not really. It had been months, and she was still a basketcase, and she couldn't go through a day without breaking up in tears. I just- we couldn't really deal with it. A big part of why we were even married in the first place was because of that baby, and when she was gone-"

Jesse sighs, pushing his plate away from him. Finn's mind is still reeling from the news. This woman, this beautiful, _perfect_ woman that he had thought was so happy, who felt like the sun in his darkest days, she makes him want to cry.

"We were- we were disintegrating, the both of us. We were so young, and I was a self-obsessed asshole, and she was too consumed by her pain for anything to work out."

"Why are you telling me this?" he asks quietly. Jesse says nothing, looking him in the eye as he continues.

"I can't exactly describe it, what it was like, but Rachel, it was like she broke," Jesse says thoughtfully, and once again in the span of an hour, he feels that giant bruise throbbing in his chest. He wants so badly to go to her. He _needs_ to go to her. "And we had the biggest argument we've ever had on the day she disappeared. Some things were said, and they just- they can't be unsaid. The damage was done. But we were over long before that, and I think that was just the moment we both realized it."

"Why are you telling me this?" he asks again. Jesse smiles at him, leaning back against his seat.

"I love Rachel," he starts, "But we both- we both needed a way out, and what happened to her, that was our escape."

"You couldn't have just gotten a divorce?" Finn asks sarcastically as Jesse chuckles.

"I didn't say we weren't dramatic," he says lightly. "But in all seriousness, what you said struck a chord. You told me that you would look for her, that you wouldn't have given up until you found her, no matter what state she'd be in, and at the time, I thought screw you, because you knew _nothing_. But, I guess you can say I've had a change of heart."

"What-"

"You know what she said, on our way home?"

"What?"

"She said that she made you happy."

He smiles, the memory of their last moment together is both bittersweet and heartbreaking.

"I think-" Jesse starts slowly, "I think she deserves to be with someone like that, someone that's- that's _happy_ with her. I mean, she told me that it was crazy, you know? She made you happy, but she couldn't remember it, but she believed you, and it made _her_ happy that she could be that to someone."

"She's _amazing_," Finn says. "She was- she was perfect."

"She'd never felt like that before," Jesse says ruefully. "I was never any good at making her feel that."

"But she chose you," Finn says morosely. "No offense."

Jesse says nothing for the longest time, and it takes him a while to realize it as he dwells in his own sadness.

"She didn't," Jesse finally says.

"What?" he asks stupidly. He feels like his vocabulary is reduced to a kindergartener's since the start of their conversation, but everything is just so overwhelming.

"She didn't choose me Finn. We- She had a lot of loose ends that needed to be tied up. She may have lost her memory for six years, but she remembered everything else, we were both done pretending our past never happened."

He feels the back of his neck burning up as his heart starts kicking.

"Where is she?" he asks, gripping the edge of his seat in anticipation. Jesse shakes his head.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? How can you not know?"

"She realized that she could really do it, you know? She could start all over, because she did it six years ago, she just couldn't remember it."

"Where is she Jesse?"

"She left, about two months ago. She said it was time to find herself, find out who she could be. I don't know where she went Finn. But-"

"But _what_?"

"I don't think she's done with you," Jesse finishes, smiling almost sardonically.

"Then why didn't she _find_ me?" Finn asks, frustrated.

"She's afraid. I know her enough to know that."

"She doesn't have to be. I would _never_ hurt her, or-or screw her up."

"She's afraid that she will, hurt _you_ and screw _you_ up. Like she did a few months back when she left. She seems to think you deserve better than someone like her."

"There's no one better than her," he answers firmly.

"You don't even know her," Jesse says. "Not really."

"I _do_ know her," he retorts angrily. "She may not like the same things, or- or be the same person, but I know _her_."

His gaze is challenging as it meets Jesse's. The guy can come at him with everything he's got, he'll spend his whole life proving it. But Jesse smiles, extending his hand. Finn takes it cautiously, frowning as they shake hands.

"Then I hope you find her."

Xxx

"There is one piece of information that I think might help," Jesse tells him as they step out of the restaurant together. "She called me once, about a month ago, just to promise me that she's still alive. And the background noise- it sounded a lot like someone speaking in Spanish. Do you have any clue?"

"I think I might," he answers dryly.

"Well then I guess this is goodbye."

"I hope you take this in the nicest possible way, but I hope to God I never see you again."

"Likewise."

Xxx

"What do you want Stretch?"

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?" he asks, a little angrily but mostly hurt, as he weaves his way through the throng of people.

"I didn't know you were interested in my heavy flow."

"What?"

"Well since you didn't bother telling me what the hell you're talking about, I assume it's about what I'm doing. I'm sorry Hudson, I'll check in with you the next time I go on a tampon run."

He makes a face, momentarily derailed before shaking his head in annoyance.

"I'm talking about Rachel Santana."

"What about Rachel?"

"She's with you."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm not an idiot, okay? Jesse came to see me, I know that she's not with him anymore. I know that she's with you. Why the _hell_ didn't you tell me this?"

"Oh _God_," Santana starts in a bored voice. "Your little dramatic game was fun for like, five seconds, but I swear I have better things to do than this. Like watching my nails dry. Yes, Berry is here. But no, she doesn't want to see you, and no Hudson, you are not allowed to come storming into my apartment and scare the crap out of her."

"Why would I scare her?" he demands. She lets out a bark of laughter.

"You terrify her."

"But-"

"Just give her time," Santana continues in a softer voice. He sighs, his free hand running through his hair in frustration.

"How long?"

"Do I look like I'd know?"

"Santa-"

"Gotta go Stretch, found my tampons."

"San-"

He groans in frustration, rolling his eyes as he hears the dead tone.

Xxx

It's been a whole day. He's giving her time.

But it's hard when he knows she's here. She's _here_, and she _not_ married, and she could have gone anywhere, started over _anywhere_ she wanted to.

But she came _here_.

And he's waiting.

Xxx

It's been a week, and he's still waiting.

He realizes that even given the chance, he wouldn't know what the hell to say to her.

What do you say to the person you love when she doesn't even know you?

How do you convince her to stay?

Xxx

He walks up the steps to his apartment quickly, his mind miles away.

This is it. Today's the day he's done waiting.

He still doesn't know what he'll say yet, but- but he'll wing it.

He's done waiting.

He rounds the corridor towards his place, and as he looks up, stops short, almost bowling over in his abrupt halt.

He would recognize that figure _anywhere_.

Is he dreaming right now? Are months and hours of dreaming of this moment finally doing his head in?

She's slumped on the floor, her knees up to her chest, her head down. She looks up when his shoes make a funny noise as he takes a step, and when she sees him, jumps up immediately.

God, it really is her.

"Rachel," he breathes.

He can't move.

She's got him paralyzed.

"Hi," she says softly, her voice shy. Her cast is gone. She's standing in front of him in a white sundress and ballet flats, and she's like a vision, like a dream that can't possibly be real.

_God_, please let her be real.

He inches closer, carefully, and she stays where she is, smiling at him nervously.

"Santana kicked me out," she tells him, smiling wryly.

He notices the small luggage on her right.

He finally reaches her. He holds his arm out, and he feels her let out a shaky breath when his fingers touch her bare arm. He does the same thing, spanning his fingers around her warm skin, trying his best to smile at her like a normal person.

"You can stay with me."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Needless to say, another chapter is coming. I'm pathetic like that. Also, their past will come to light. Be prepared for flashbacks galore =)**


	6. The so unknown

_I'll give you this confession_  
><em>I am taking you with me<em>  
><em>Where we can contemplate our chemistry<em>  
><em>And your eyes were lined with questions<em>  
><em>With the blood rushing to waste<em>  
><em>To take this feeling with us to our graves<em>  
><em>To our graves<em>

* * *

><p>They spend the first night isolated.<p>

He lets her have his room, hastily grabbing an armful of clothes that he dumps on the armchair in the living room while she stands awkwardly by the door, asking him for the tenth time if he minds.

"I don't," he says as he walks out with a pillow and a blanket, shooting her a reassuring smile. "You can stay as long as you like."

He would like to tell her that she could stay forever if she wants, but maybe it's still too soon for that.

She shoots him a small, almost shy smile and once again he is taken aback by how different she is from the Rachel that he used to know. His Rachel had never been so restraint. He wonders who she is, what she's like. He wonders if there's any part of her that she shares with the woman that used to love him.

She grabs her luggage, pulling it behind her as she walks and he catches the flash of pink dangling off the handle. Her tag is the outline of a star, pink and glittery, her name written in black cursive letters in the middle. He smiles.

He gets the feeling that things won't fall into place as easily this time around, but he doesn't mind.

Because just like before, he's in love with her already.

Xxx

He falls into a restless sleep and is wide awake by five. Lying stretched out on the couch, he tries to listen for any movement coming from the room, feeling just a little disappointed when there is none. Rachel used to wake up hours before he ever did, her morning routine usually starting as early as five thirty. Maybe this is just one of those things that are going to be different.

He makes himself busy, folding his blanket and placing it neatly on his pillow before heading to the bathroom for a shower.

By seven, he's whistling as he hurries up the steps, carrying the breakfast he bought downstairs. He pushes his door open and his whistling stops when she stands frozen in the doorway of her room. She looks surprised to see him, blushing as she looks down at her shorts and tank top.

"Hi," he says softly, walking in and closing the door behind him. She smiles, still looking mildly uncomfortable.

"Good morning," she murmurs. He grins, holding up the package in his hand.

"I made breakfast," he jokes. She cracks a brighter smile at that as she chuckles.

"I'll just um- I'll be right back." She makes a beeline for the door, closing it softly behind her.

"Okay," he says quietly to the empty room.

She comes out of hiding ten minutes later as he's pouring coffee in a mug, the food spread out on the table before him, and she's already well put together, in a yellow sundress, hair combed to a shine. He wonders if it'll ever occur to her that he's seen her in much, _much_ less than those sinful boy shorts and tiny tank top, that he has seen her hair messy and wild and rumpled, or that he'll take her in any which way she wants.

"What's for breakfast?" she asks brightly. He grins, sweeping his hand grandly over the spread.

"All American," he tells her. "Pancakes, eggs and the best bacon this side of New York City."

He doesn't fail to catch the look on her face.

"What's wrong?" he asks. She shakes her head, smiling weakly at him.

"I'm a vegan," she tells him.

She's a what? He stares blankly at her.

"Um-"

"I don't eat meat," she says slowly.

"You don't?"

"I guess- I guess your Rachel did."

"Yeah she- you did," he says in dismay. So much for impressing her with food. He looks glumly at the mountain of food before them, wrecking his brain to find something for her. Did Kurt leave any of his shitty oatmeal behind?

Her sudden move startles him as she pulls out a chair to sit on.

"I'll have the pancakes," she tells him, smiling.

"You don't have to-"

"What the heck," she says. "Let's live a little."

He grins at that, pulling out a chair to sit across from her.

"Well then in that case, you'll need some syrup," he starts, pouring a generous helping of maple syrup over her pancakes. "And butter. Lots of butter."

Xxx

"So what's the plan?" he asks, shoving her share of bacon in his mouth.

"Plan?"she repeats.

"Yeah. You know, what are you gonna do?"

She looks thoughtfully at him, one hand absent-mindedly pushing a small piece of pancake with her fork.

"I'm kind of wigging it," she confesses, smiling ruefully. "Crazy, huh? I figured I've started over once before, you know? Granted, I remember absolutely nothing, but hey, that was probably how I started out six years ago anyway, so I could do it again. And this just- this just feels like the right place to start. Everybody thinks I'm crazy."

"Who's everybody?" he asks sharply, frowning.

"Everyone back home. They look at me like I'm a ghost, and I guess in some ways I kind of am. I mean, it's been years, and everyone's carried on, and then there's me, still stuck in time. I just- I don't belong there anymore." She shrugs. "I'm on my own now. And it's not as bad as I thought it would be."

"Jesse told me," he says quietly. "You know, some stuff about you."

"I know," she answers quietly, giving him a small smile. "He said he was going to. It's kind of the reason why I'm here right now. Well, aside from Santana locking me out of her apartment that is."

"Yeah, she's kind of a bitch like that."

"I like it," she says, her voice a little wistful. "I like her. She's fierce, fearless. That's what I want to be."

"Minus the heinous bitch part though, right?" he teases.

She laughs, her eyes twinkling as she looks at him and nods.

"Minus that."

"You are, you know," he says, leaning back against his seat. "Fearless. Just look at what you're doing. You're like, single-handedly taking control of your destiny. That's awesome."

She snorts, shaking her head.

"You're making me sound much braver than I am. But the truth is I'm _terrified_. I mean, I left everything Finn. Everything I ever knew."

"It's a good thing you're not alone then," he says nonchalantly, his tone belying the way his heart is drumming against his ribcage. She looks at him almost like she's in awe for a moment before the small, shy smile he's learned to associate with this Rachel stretches across her lips.

She looks down at her plate, blushing, and he makes himself busy, ignoring the heat he feels in his cheeks as he starts to clean up.

Xxx

"Finn?"

He turns his attention away from the dishes as he looks at her expectantly. She hands him her plate and he smiles, taking it from her as he turns back to the sink.

"Will you- I mean, could you tell me, about us?"

He doesn't move, but his hands still under the running water.

"You don't- you don't have to-"

"What do you want to know?" he asks huskily. He almost drops the plate when she touches him, feeling the palm of her hand imprinted against his back.

"Everything," she tells him, curling her fingers into his shirt. "I want to know everything."

Xxx

She tells him to start from the beginning, so he does.

"We met four years ago, on September 14th," he tells her. He's sitting on his armchair, and she's sitting on the far end of the couch, her hands clasped together on her lap as she listens to him intently.

"Do you remember the time?" she asks. He chuckles, shaking his head. This is just like her, thorough down to the second.

"Oh," she answers, a little disappointed.

"Maybe it was eight?" he offers. "In the morning. It was your first day on the job-"

"What was I doing?"

"You were the school receptionist. It was a temp job," he says when she wrinkles her nose. He laughs as he remembers.

"You thought I was the new kid, and you spent like, ten minutes telling me about the class schedules."

"And you just let me?"

"I tried to stop you, but you had that thing memorized to a tee, and you won't let me speak."

"That's embarrassing," she says, shaking her head as she blushes.

"Nah, it was cute," he says fondly. "I've never seen anybody talk that fast, not even Kurt when he tried to convince Blaine that spending three hundred dollars on a jacket was like, totally normal."

"Who's Kurt?" she asks curiously.

The question throws him off.

"Oh he's um- he's my brother."

"Oh. Who's Blaine?"

"His boyfriend."

"Ah. Then what happened?"

"Then Principal McGill came out of his office and asked me why I'm flirting with the new girl, which was about the time you realized that Finn Hudson is the music teacher."

He grins, remembering the way her face had turned beet red as she apologized to him.

"_No problem __**Miss**__ Berry,"_ he'd told her in amusement, stressing on her name the way she had done. _"You're just about the best one-girl welcoming committee I'd ever met. The new kids won't know what hit 'em."_

"You wouldn't look at me the whole day," he informs her, grinning.

"Was I always embarrassing myself in front of you?" she asks with a smile, shaking her head. He grins, grabbing the back of his neck a little bashfully as he remembers what happened next.

"I think it was a pretty mutual thing," he confesses.

"Continue," she says, sitting up with a grin on her face.

"You caught me um- 'rocking out' in the music room during recess the next day. Air guitars and all."

She laughs.

"And just like that we were on even ground," she predicts.

"That's not even the worst of it."

"Tell me."

He pretends to groan, grinning as she looks at him in anticipation.

"You caught me dancing."

"So?"

"Well in the words of my dear brother, when I try, it looks like I'm trying to demolish a colony of red ants."

She giggles.

"You can't be that bad," she scoffs.

"Oh believe me, I really am."

"I'll believe it when I see it," she tells him, raising an eyebrow.

"Is that a challenge?" he asks, grinning.

"It sounds like one," she teases.

"I think," he says, shaking his head. "That it's time for another story."

"Chicken," she teases.

"Hey I'm trying to be appealing here, not put you off," he jokes. But not really, because his dancing really is honest to God terrible.

"You don't really have to worry about that," she says quietly. He looks up at her in surprise and she looks away shyly, her cheeks crimson red.

"That's good to know," he murmurs, his own blood rushing to his face.

Xxx

It takes them about a week to fall into a routine.

On Sunday he wakes up to the sound of her busily making breakfast in the kitchen. She smiles when she sees his sleepy state and goes back to scrambling his eggs for him.

She does the same thing on Monday, except it's toast, and when he comes home from work, he finds a fridge stocked full of groceries. She tells him that it's the least of her contribution, for now, as she doesn't intend to be a complete freeloader and take advantage of him. She even picked up some bacon and sausages for him, although she wrinkles her nose as she tells him this.

The rest of the week goes by in a relatively constant manner of him waking up to find her already piling his plate with whatever she's made for breakfast, the smell of coffee wafting through the air. They spend the evenings talking as she soaks up all there is to know about Rachel Berry, a woman she's still convinced is nothing like her.

"She sounds amazing," she tells him, eyes wide in awe when he told her about the first call back she ever got, of him sitting in the freezing cold out on the pavement with her as they waited for the director to leave. He shook his head but grinned when he remembered the way she had jumped up immediately, demanding that the small, alarmed man take a second listen to her as she belted out Streisand right there in the middle of the street at nine in the evening.

"You still are, you know," he says softly, but she shakes her head.

"I'm nothing like her."

A lot of things are different. The apartment isn't filled with the sound of her voice anymore, he never catches her bobbing her head along to whatever melody that's filling her head at any given time. She's calmer, less prone to dramatics, she doesn't let her feelings show so easily. It's harder to read her. She's insecure, and after everything she's been through, he guesses she has every right to be. Sometimes when he's talking he sees a sort of wistfulness on her face. It hurts, because it looks like the way he feels.

"Sometimes I wish I could give her back to you," she murmurs.

She thinks she's nothing like Rachel Berry.

And maybe she's not, not exactly.

He knows she thinks Rachel Berry was special, something she'll never be again.

He knows better than to argue, but he wholeheartedly disagrees. He looks at her and sees a woman strong enough to leave everything she knew to start all over again in a place she can't remember. He sees a woman awesome enough to go out there to find what she wants. He sees a woman brave enough to trust him, even though she doesn't really have any reason to.

He looks at her and he sees Rachel. Just Rachel.

But she doesn't talk about herself a lot. Or at all, really. Everything he knows, everything he guesses, came from one conversation with Jesse St. James. It frustrates him that she's still so secretive and yes, childish as it may be, it annoys the shit out of him to know that Jesse still knows more about her than he does.

But he knows her _better_ than Jesse St. James ever will, and one day he knows she'll see this.

He doesn't mind waiting. Much.

Xxx

They reach just past the one month mark when he meets Star for the first time.

"Rachel?" he calls out as he closes the door behind him, dropping his backpack (the kids call it Mr. H's swag bag because of the candy he keeps in the front pouch. He's found that throwing candy at ten year old boys with short attention spans helps a lot. Rachel used to laugh at that and told him he needed to be careful with the way he phrased his sentences, but come on. He only _wished_ he had a teacher as cool as him when he was ten. He would have paid more attention for sure.) on the floor. She doesn't answer and he drops his keys on the coffee table as he sits on the couch. He's about to lean forwards for the remote when something jumps at him.

"Holy shit!" He jumps back in surprise as he curses, his heart beating a mile a minute as he cautiously lowers his hands from his face to look at what attacked him.

It's white and furry and really tiny, and he frowns when it looks up at him innocently from his lap.

"Uh... Rachel?" he calls out, bewildered. "Did you know there's a cat in here?"

It makes a small noise as it makes its way towards his torso and he notices the brown patches of fur on his paws. Rachel strides out of the toilet, whistling for the first time in like, _ever_. She stops in surprise when she sees him before she smiles.

"You're home," she says warmly.

"Yeah. We've got a break in," he says, pointing down to his lap that the little furball has by now made into a comfortable bed. She grins when she sees this, before she looks back up at him, smiling a little hesitantly.

"I found her on my way home from the market this morning," she tells him. He can tell she's trying really hard not to sound too excited. "She was shivering, the poor thing, and starving too. I bought her some milk and she finished the whole thing in five minutes."

"Oh," he says blankly, afraid to move by now because he doesn't want to crush the little thing. She says nothing after that, but she's looking at it like it's the most perfect thing in the world.

"So this stray cat-"

"She's a kitten."

"Right. This kitten," he corrects himself. He looks at Rachel who's still looking down at the kitten, her eyes shining. "Do you um- do you wanna keep it?"

Her head shoots up towards him, colour rising towards her cheeks as she fails to hide the hope blooming on her face.

"Are you letting me keep it?" she asks quietly. "I mean, this is your place-"

"It's yours too," he cuts in. A smile grows on her face as she moves to sit next to him.

"I can keep her," she says quietly, almost to herself as she runs one finger over the kitten's tiny head. Her smile grows into a Rachel Berry beam when it purrs and his heart skips a beat, because that's the first time he has seen it in a long, long time. It stretches itself on his lap as it burrows its head between his torso and his thigh, and he chuckles.

"She's kind of cute," he tells Rachel softly, leaning back against the couch. "What are you naming her?"

"Star," Rachel says without missing a beat. He looks at her, his heart thumping furiously in his chest.

"Why?" he asks quietly, holding his breath. She turns to him and smiles, pointing downwards. Star is on her back, her paws up in the air he sees the patch of brown shaped like a star on her belly. He chuckles, cautiously scratching it with one finger.

"Oh," he says. "That's kinda cool."

"Also, I've always loved stars," she confides as she looks up at him, smiling widely. "They're just so magical, the idea of something so gigantic and powerful surrounding us, you know? But they look so small from where we are, and they're just so beautiful to look at. You know," she continues in a childish voice as she picks Star up and buries her nose in its fur. "I knew you were special when I saw that. It was like a sign, like a- like a metaphor."

"And metaphors are important," he murmurs, remembering what she used to tell him once, years ago. Rachel looks up at him and smiles.

"Exactly," she tells him, grinning.

Xxx

He steps into the bar hurriedly. He's late, and he knows how she hates it when people are late, despite the fact that she's late almost eighty percent of the time anyway. But whatever, she's a real bitch when she's cranky, and he tries to avoid that as much as he can.

He sees her on a stool at the bar, probably chatting up that Hell's Angel next to her, judging by their proximity. He rolls his eyes, smirking as he makes his way to the bar. He nudges her shoulder as he slides in next to her, and she turns with a nasty glare on her face until she sees that it's him.

"You're late," she tells him in a bored voice.

"Sorry. The kids held me back."

"Yeah, yeah whatever."

The Hell's Angel taps her on the shoulder and she brushes his hand away impatiently.

"My date's here Floppy-Hair. You should have closed five minutes ago."

He gives 'Floppy-Hair' an apologetic smile when the huge man glares at him.

"I thought you didn't roll that way," he comments, a little confused as he watches the dude walk away.

"I roll any way I want to. The straight and narrow path is a little boring if you ask me. Sometimes a girl just needs a good sized co-"

"How are you doing Santana?" he cuts in, grimacing. She rolls her eyes as she ignores his question.

"So I just came back from your little love nest, because apparently Berry-"

"Her last name's Corcoran you know,"

"Well Corcoran is a shitty name and Berry just sounds better, so I'll call her whatever the hell I want to. Anyway, apparently she's all domesticated now, and God forbid if she leaves the place for five _fucking_ minutes, the little mutt will commit suicide or something."

"Star's a cat Santana."

"Whatever. She's still a pain in my ass."

He chuckles, nodding his head in thanks as the bartender hands him his drink.

"Well Rachel loves her," he says, grinning. They've hit the three month mark, and it's like she's a completely different person now that she has Star. He sees a different part of her as she fusses over the cat like it's her baby. Star for her part, has turned from a small, slightly slow kitten into a small, really fast one, who jumps his shoelaces like she's a ninja cat or something. He shakes his head, grinning as he remembers last week, when the cat had been puking furballs for two straight days and Rachel had worriedly asked him to accompany her to the vet. It had been nothing, of course, just that the little thing had been grooming herself a little too enthusiastically, but it was the first time she held his hand in what felt like years, as they waited for the vet to be done with Star.

His lips turn up on one side as he looks down at his right hand, flexing his fingers. Sometimes he still feels the warmth of her palm against his.

Santana smacks the back of his head and snaps him out of his reverie.

"The hell Lopez?" he exclaims, glaring at the woman.

"The hell _you're_ doing Hudson?"

"What are you talking about?"

"How long has she come back?"

"Three months," he answers automatically. "And ten days."

"And what's going on?" Santana asks. She continues before he could answer. "I'll tell you what's going on. A big, fat _nothing_, that's what's going on. Really Hudson? You're letting a freaking mutt hone in on your territory?"

"We're- we're taking things slow."

"No, you're not. Slow, is getting _somewhere_, you're not even moving," Santana continues wryly. He rolls his eyes, grabbing the back of his neck.

"It's complicated."

"She's gonna think that you're not interested," Santana warns. He scoffs at that.

"That's ridiculous. I'm _more_ than interested."

"Yeah? What do you spend your time doing? Other than fawning over the stray, that is."

"We- we talk."

"About what?"

"Well- lots of things. Like, like-"

"Like Rachel?"

He doesn't say anything to that, eyes focused straight into his glass.

"Look," Santana starts in a gentler voice. "I miss her too you know. But she's not coming back-"

"I _know_ that," he answers quickly, his tone firm. "Okay? I know."

"Do you believe it?"

"What are you talking about? Of course I-"

"No, I know you know it. But do you believe that? When you look at her, do you _see_ her? Or are you waiting for someone else to appear?"

"I-" he starts uncertainly. He thinks about it, about their nights together, about him telling her everything he remembers, about feeling wistful sometimes when he speaks, remembering the woman he used to love and still miss. He thinks about the look she has on her face sometimes, that unfathomable, inconsolable look she gets after he tells her a story, before she excuses herself and turns in early.

But he thinks about the feelings he gets too, the clamouring, _yearning_ need to wipe that look away, or the way his heart kind of flutters and jumps when she smiles, or talks to Star in that little, tiny voice, or when he wakes up in the morning and sees her smiling face and hears her soft "good morning" the first thing. He thinks about her, about how he thinks about her _always_, all the time, what she's doing, how she's feeling, what she needs.

He thinks about her.

"I do believe it," he tells Santana, looking her straight in the eyes, convinced. "I see _her_."

"Well then you better move quick Stretch, or she's gonna think you're not interested. And I'm not just making this shit up out of nowhere," she finishes cryptically as she finishes her drink.

Xxx

Star mewls loudly from her place on the floor as she stands on her hindlegs, her front paws digging into his pants. He looks down and shakes his head at her.

"You know what Rachel says," he tells the cat. "No human food for you."

It's like she understands him or something, because she lets go and turns abruptly, walking away towards the end of the kitchen to sulk. He rolls his eyes, turning to look at Rachel who smiles warmly back at him. He thinks about what Santana said.

"Hey," he starts carefully, twirling the pesto around his fork for the tenth time. "Do you have any plans on Friday night?"

"Friday night?" she repeats, looking up at him. Her brows furrow and her temple creases as she tries to remember. "I don't think so. Why?"

"Well- the middle school is having a dance. And I kinda promised to chaperone-"

"I thought you teach at the elementary school?" she asks, confused as she cuts in.

"I do. But it's the sister school, and- and they've been having some budget cuts the last year or so and they were gonna cut the music program because they didn't have a teacher, so I kind of volunteered myself I guess."

"You're teaching those kids for free?" she asks softly. The way she's looking at him is making him blush, embarrassed.

"Well it's only one class a week, and they have to like, cramp all these kids together, which is kinda really shitty for them- but," he stops, smiling nervously at her. "But that's not the point. What I wanted to say was, I have to chaperone these kids on Friday, and well, these things kinda suck when you're alone."

"Are you- are you asking me to be your date?"

"I know it's like really lame. I mean it's totally fine if you don't want to-"

"Finn."

"Yeah?" He watches her nervously, grabbing the back of his neck as the small smile on her face stretches into a huge beam.

"I'd love to go to the dance with you Finn."

"Awesome," he answers, relieved. "So it's a date."

"Yeah," she agrees, looking back down at her pasta as she smiles to herself. "It's a date."

Xxx

Friday comes faster than he had anticipated, and on the day itself, he finds himself up to his neck with last minute emergencies. He sighs as he stands on a chair, fixing another lantern up against the fake lamppost they've lined all along the gym. How the hell did he get roped into this anyway? Since when is a chaperone part of the decorating committee?

"You're a lifesaver Mr. H," Caitlyn gushes as she hands him another lantern. "The rest of the committee are all leaving early to get ready, and I'm just not tall enough to reach those lightbulbs safely."

"No problem," he answers easily. "How many do we have left?"

He looks down at the young girl, who points her hand to the left. He looks, stifling a sigh when he sees the long line.

"Let's take a break," he suggests to Caitlyn, who pushes her glasses up her nose a little impatiently, but nods her head. He shoots the well-meaning, but slightly high strung girl a smile as he climbs off the chair, pulling out his phone from his pocket to call Rachel.

"Hi Finn,"

"Hey," he answers easily. "Where are you?"

"I'm um- shopping for my dress, with Santana- what? It's Finn. Yeah, yeah I told him. _What_? I'm not going to say that! What-"

"What's going on?" he asks curiously.

"Nothing," Rachel answers quickly. "Nothing at all. Santana's just being ridiculous-"

"She looks hot enough to eat Hudson!" Santana screams through the phone and he grins as Rachel shushes her immediately.

"Sorry about that," she answers breathlessly. "I just threw her out of the dressing room. What's up?"

"Nothing. Just- I'm not sure if I'll be able to make it home before the dance."

"Oh."

"I'm so sorry. It's just, this girl just asked me for help with the gym decoration, and her friends kinda bailed on her so-"

"Finn it's okay. I mean, it's not like you're standing me up or anything."

"God no! I just wanted to know- and I swear I'll make it up to you, I'm just wondering if I could meet you here? At the school?"

"Sure," she answers brightly. "It's no problem."

"I'm so sorry Rachel-"

"Finn," she cuts in again, her voice gentle. "It's not a problem. Really. I'll see you in a few hours 'kay?"

"You're pretty awesome," he tells her, smiling. "You know that?"

She doesn't say anything to that, but he pictures her smile, that small, shy upturn of her lips.

"I'll see you later Finn."

Xxx

He taps his foot impatiently against the linoleum as he watches the entrance. He had positioned himself next to the buffet table so that he could get a good look at her when she comes in, but it's been half an hour, and there's no sign of her anywhere. She didn't stand him up, did she?

"Hi Mr. H."

He looks to his left to find Caitlyn smiling at him as she piles her plate high with food.

"Hey! You look nice," he says. She blushes as she looks down at her dress, before looking up at him as she beams. "Are you having a good time?"

Her smile falters a little and he frowns as she continues to pile her plate.

"Are you okay Caitlyn?" Her shoulders quiver before she puts her plate down a little too loudly on the table as she looks up at him, tears filling her eyes.

_Oh shit_.

"Everyone in this school hates me," she mumbles.

"I-" he starts awkwardly. "I'm sure that's not true-"

"How would you know? You're only here once a week Mr. H."

Well that's true. She looks at him glumly, like she's hoping he could make her feel better or something, but he's never really been good with this kind of stuff. He's more the sing-what-you-feel type of teacher. He kind of gets why the girl would be annoying though, 'cause she can be a little overbearing a _lot_ of the time, and she never does seem to sit with anyone in his class. But still. She's a kid. She shouldn't feel this shitty just yet.

"Well I like you," he says, shooting her a smile as he puts his punch down. "What do ya say to a dance with me?"

"No offense Mr. H, but you're kinda old."

"Hey! I'm not that old, and you know what, I'm kinda bummed 'cause my date's running late. Humor me a little. What do you say?"

A fast song is playing, and yeah, he's going to look like an idiot on the dance floor, but he's already got the seal of uncoolness from these twelve year olds, so whatever. Caitlyn's face lights up a little as she giggles at his signature shuffle-and-point move, and hey, it feels kind of worth it. The song finishes in three minutes and he has her, along with most of the kids surrounding then, laughing by the end of it, and she finally looks like she's actually having fun at the dance she'd spent so much time on.

"That was fun," Caitlyn concedes as they walk back towards the buffet table.

"Just put yourself out there," he tells her. "The universe loves positive energy."

"Who told you that?"

"My girlfriend."

"Is she like a hippie or something?" the girl asks, wrinkling her nose as she pushes her glasses up. He laughs, shaking his head.

"No. She just believes in karma."

"Oh. Is that her?" He looks up to where Caitlyn is pointing at and a smile grows on his face when he sees Rachel, standing by the buffet table, waving at him.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah that's her."

"She's really pretty," Caitlyn whispers as they reach closer.

"She really is," he agrees, smiling at Rachel when he reaches her.

"Sorry I'm late," she says apologetically. "I got lost at the station," she continues sheepishly.

"You took the subway? In your dress?"

"Yeah, well Santana is busy tonight so..." She trails her words as she looks at the young girl looking back curiously at her, smiling pleasantly.

"Oh this is Caitlyn," he says as he remembers her. "Caitlyn, this is Rachel."

"It's nice to meet you," Rachel says, smiling as she shakes the younger girl's hand.

"It's nice to meet you too Miss Rachel. I guess I'll just go back to eating now," Caitlyn tells them drearily as she starts to turn around.

"Hey," he calls out. "Remember what I said, positive energy."

"Yeah, yeah," Caitlyn says dismissively, but she smiles at him before she walks away.

He turns to look back at Rachel, frowning a little. She's literally swimming in that jacket. Hey-

"Isn't that my-"

"Oh yes! Sorry, I forgot. I brought this for you," she says quickly, taking it off and handing it to him. "I just, you know, figured you'd like to wear something to look more formal. Not," she continues hastily, "that you don't look good, because sweater vests look great on you."

He barely listens to her as he takes in the dress she's wearing, a small, black little thing that reveals so much more than any of her sundresses ever do, but somehow still appropriate enough for a school dance. Go figure.

"Finn?" He snaps back to attention to find Rachel looking a little worriedly at him.

"Wow, you um- you look really good," he finishes, grinning as she blushes.

"Thanks," she murmurs. "Santana helped with this. Actually, she wasn't that much help. She kept wanting me to try on all these highly inappropriate dresses, but she found this one too, so."

She shrugs, smiling up at him. His palms are starting to sweat as he shrugs his jacket on nervously.

"You um- you wanna dance?"

"Finally showing me your legendary moves?" she teases as she takes his hand. He laughs, slipping his fingers easily between hers.

"I'm finally taking you up on that challenge."

Xxx

He steps on her toes five times during the first five minutes. For her part, all she does is wince and tell him she's fine. God, he's _blushing_. He's accepted the fact that he's a tragic dancer, but damn it, he had thought his feet wouldn't actually bail on him completely.

"I told you I suck," he tells her apologetically.

"No it's fine," she answers. "To be fair, you did tell me. And- and you look adorable trying," she tells him shyly. He chuckles.

"Is that a nicer way of telling me to never take you dancing again?"

"No," she murmurs, shaking her head as she looks up at him, grinning. "What're a few broken toes, right?"

"Are you mocking me, Miss Corcoran?"

"I am sir."

He grins at the cheeky smile on her face. A slow song starts to play, an old eighties ballad that he's pretty sure none of these kids have ever heard before. She takes his hand, smiling at him a little hesitantly before she places it just above her hip.

"I think I can take one more broken toe," she tells him in a soft voice. He smiles as she wraps her arms around his neck and he puts his other hand at her waist.

"Or we could just sway," he whispers. She giggles into his shirt, nodding.

He doesn't know if she could actually hear how wildly his heart is beating. Maybe it's the setting, but he feels just like a kid on his first date, dancing with the girl he likes and not knowing what to do. She told him that she went to only one dance while she was still in school and it had been bad enough that she wouldn't go to another one again. They're having fun tonight. It's like they're on neutral ground, nothing in their way but the prospect of getting to know one another.

"You know, you're a really good teacher," she tells him as they sway on the spot.

"Thanks. I try."

"I'm serious. If I had a teacher like you in school, I probably wouldn't have hated it so much."

"I liked school," he tells her honestly.

"Yeah you look like the type that would," she teases.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean you're tall, good-looking. You probably have been since you were like, fifteen or something."

"I played football," he confesses. She looks up, grinning.

"See? I knew it. You were the popular kid."

"What about you?"

"Me? I was the social reject." She laughs ruefully. "I guess that kind of never changed."

"It's changing now," he murmurs, pulling her closer as he tightens his grip on her.

"Yeah," she replies, leaning her head against his chest. "Yeah I guess it is."

xxx

Their fingers are interlocked as they walk together in the quiet of the night. The streetlamps cast shadows on the pavement, and he smiles to himself when he sees theirs, two shadows merging as one.

"I had a wonderful time tonight," she tells him, breaking their comfortable silence.

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Even with the really bad dancing?"

She laughs, shaking her head.

"That's my favorite part actually."

He grins.

"Last year, you took the stage when the DJ bailed on us at the last minute," he says, grinning as the memory comes to him suddenly. "You killed it, of course, and the kids loved it."

He looks down in surprise when his hand feels empty. She's gripping the lapels of his jacket as she looks forwards, a small frown on her face.

"Hey you okay?" he asks, concerned. She turns to give him a half-hearted smile as she nods.

"It's just- it's cold," she says, wrapping his jacket tighter around herself.

"Oh. Okay."

He looks at her nervously, contemplating putting an arm around her.

_You are a grown ass man Finn Hudson. _

Carefully, he inches closer to put an arm around her. She stiffens for just a second and he holds his breath, releasing it as she relaxes. Slowly, he pulls her against him. She rests her head against his side and he relaxes as they walk together.

"You look so beautiful tonight," he tells her quietly.

"Thank you," she murmurs. She's driving him crazy. She's been doing it all night.

"Rachel," he says as he stops abruptly. She halts in surprise as she looks up at him and he releases her, only to turn her body towards him. Her eyes are questioning as she looks at him in wonder, widening when she realizes that he's moving in closer.

"What?" she murmurs, her eyes fluttering down to his lips. He moves his hands from her shoulders down to her waist, wrapping them around her small frame to pull her even closer.

"I really want to kiss you," he whispers, his lips just inches away from hers. She says nothing, but she leans up towards him as her eyes finally close, and he takes that as a yes. Carefully, his lips find hers, pressing just a little. Her hands are gripping the front of his sweater vest, and _God_, he misses her lips. He remembers the last time he kissed her, when she was still someone else's wife, as he opens his mouth to deepen their kiss, swallowing her tiny moan. He thinks he's probably dead when her hand moves up to graze his jaw with her nails. He feels her tongue grazing his teeth and lets her in, kissing her with all the pent-up desire he's been holding in for the past three months.

He pulls away, just far enough so that their lips are still touching as they breathe heavily against each other.

"Rachel," he murmurs, his lips brushing hers with every movement. "Rachel."

Her eyes snap open, and she pulls away, surprising him.

"Wha-"

"We need to hurry," she tells him quietly, her eyes hooded as she turns away and continues walking briskly down the street.

"Wait. Rachel-"

"Star is waiting for me," she says, hurrying away.

He looks after her, his heart bursting to sprint right out of his chest. That was- that was _amazing_. Didn't she feel that?

Why is she walking away?

* * *

><p><em>I get the feeling we're so misdirected<em>  
><em>I get the feeling we have lost control<em>  
><em>Til then I'll turn you to the new religion<em>  
><em>We're dropping out into the so unknown<em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So I hit past the 6000 word mark and realized that this is just going to be too long for one chapter. So you know what that means. I'm not even promising anything anymore.**

**Lyrics to The So Unknown by Jack's Mannequi**_n_


	7. Soul meets body

**A/N: Well this chapter took longer than expected. And yet there is still one more to go, so look out for that, and also an eilogue for this one soon-ish. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

><p><em>I do believe it's true<br>That there are roads left in both of our shoes  
>If the silence takes you<br>Then I hope it takes me too_

* * *

><p>By the time he catches up to her, he finds Rachel kneeling on the floor of their kitchen, picking a sleepy Star up from her basket.<p>

"Rachel," he starts. He's not entirely sure what comes after that though, and so he says nothing as she stands, cradling the sleeping animal in her arms.

"Goodnight Finn," she tells him quietly, sending him a smile that never reaches her eyes. He wants to tell her to wait, but his feet are rooted to the ground and he's frozen both by utter confusion and the sinking feeling that maybe he made a mistake. She stands, waiting for him for maybe five seconds, before she sends him another small smile and makes her way to her room.

"Goodnight," he says dumbly as he hears the click of the lock.

Xxx

He wakes up to silence, and it weirds him out when he's gotten used to seeing her smile first thing in the morning with Star curled up on his belly. But both Rachel and Star are nowhere to be found, and his gaze move towards the ominously closed door of her room.

He sits up, scratching the back of his head as he sighs, and his eye catches the plate of French toast on the counter.

He hates that she's avoiding him.

Xxx

He loiters around the living room until noon, hoping to see her face peeking out of her room. He hears Star mewling restlessly from the other side and Rachel shushing her.

He gives up at one.

"I'm going out for a while," he tells her through the door, feeling just a little irritated when she doesn't answer.

He leaves, because she needs to get out of there some time.

Xxx

He doesn't know what to do, because what does it mean when she's being this quiet? Is she pissed at him? Or does she like, feel bad for him for humiliating himself that night? He doesn't know her enough to know what to do, and so he does nothing.

Xxx

It lasts for three days, the sinking feeling in his chest growing heavier every time she looks away from him.

Complete silence has turned into communication on a need-to-know basis. On Sunday she told him that she was going for a walk, taking Star, who looked like she'd rather be doing anything other than leave the apartment. She came home with a bag of takeout in one hand and Star in the other, and dinner had been a silent affair, safe for Star's incessant mewling.

She didn't even say anything when he slipped the cat a piece of his chicken.

By Monday he's becoming restless. Clearly, he needs to do something.

"I-" he says hesitantly when they're cleaning up, looking at anywhere but her. "I'm sorry, for you know, kissing you."

She doesn't say a word, but she freezes. He looks helplessly down at the cat, who's looking up at him, shrugging when she cocks her head to the left, as if asking him what next.

"You're sorry?" she finally asks, slowly turning away from the sink to look at him.

"I-" he stops at the unreadable look on her face. "Aren't you?"

She says nothing, but her face changes for a split second before she nods at him, turning back towards the sink.

"Okay," she says.

"Rachel."

"It's fine. You're sorry. Okay."

"No-"

"It's fine, Finn. Okay? I get it. You got carried away, and- and you were probably- you were thinking about her-"

"What?" he cuts in, confused as she rambles on, holding the same plate she's been holding for three minutes under the running water. "Who?"

Her shoulder hitches upwards as she takes a deep breath. She turns off the tap, finally placing the spotless plate with the rest of the clean utensils before she turns around, barely concealed conflict gracing her features.

"Rachel," she finally says in a quiet voice.

Santana's words hit him like a lightning bolt, and for the first time in three days, he finally gets it.

Her arms are wrapped around her like she's trying to protect herself as she looks at him, and he takes a tentative step forward.

"I kissed you," he tells her. She rolls her eyes impatiently at him as he takes another step towards her.

"Yes, Finn. I know-"

"No. I kissed _you_."

"Finn-"

"Are you sorry?"

"What?"

"Are you sorry? That I kissed you." he asks again quietly when he finally reaches her. She's leaning back against the sink, her eyes wide as he towers over her. She shakes her head imperceptibly. He smiles, the weight in his chest lifting for a second before she speaks up again.

"I'm not sorry," she tells him, her voice quivering. He leans forward, one hand tucking strands of her hair behind her ear. His heart is racing.

"Good," he whispers. He leans closer, close enough to kiss her again when she looks up, alarmed.

"_No_," she says, pushing him away. "No this is- this is _crazy_."

"Rachel-" he starts, surprised as she slips away from him, pacing the length of the kitchen.

"You don't want me," she mutters, shaking her head. "It's not- it's not real."

"Rachel what are you talking about? Of course I want you-"

"Do you know what it feels like?" she asks, ignoring him as she looks up, her eyes glassy as she finally stops in front of him. "What it felt like to kiss me? Because- because it was amazing Finn. Kissing you felt perfect, and- and wonderful. No you don't get it!" she exclaims when he starts to reach forward again, a smile growing on his face. "You've- you've felt this before."

"Rachel-"

"Were you- were you thinking of her?" she asks quietly.

"I was thinking of you," he tells her earnestly. She looks up at him through her lashes, a pained expression on her face.

"Which me?" she whispers. It catches him off guard, the question and the almost resigned way that she asks them.

"I-"

"It didn't feel new to you. It didn't feel- it wasn't something you never felt before."

"It felt perfect," he tells her quietly. She looks up at him, distressed, and he stops himself from comforting her, because it feels like she'll only shrink away from his touch.

"I can't stop thinking about it," she whispers. "I can't stop thinking about how you've felt this before, with her. And I'm just this replacement-"

"That's _not_ true-"

"And it's crazy Finn, this whole thing is _crazy_, because I'm jealous, because- because I knew you were thinking of her, and she's- she's _me_. But I'm not her."

"Rachel." He calls her name forcefully, grabbing her by the shoulders to keep her still. She stops moving, standing still as she looks up at him, waiting. He can't. He can't say anything.

"How do I know this is real?" she whispers, her gaze searching. He wrecks his brain for something to say, trying to find the right words to explain. But how is he supposed to explain something he barely understands himself?

"What do you want me to say?" he finally asks, his tone hinging on desperation. "What can- what can I do? Just- just tell me and I'll do it."

She stares up at him, and it feels like they're staying that way forever, before she finally looks away, gently pulling away from his grasp.

"Nothing," she tells him, her voice subdued. "There's nothing you can do. You're still in love with her. And I can't compete with that."

Xxx

She leaves again.

He doesn't try to stop her this time.

Xxx

Santana calls him up to explain in various different ways just how stupid she thinks he is.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"It's- it's complicated San."

"Fuck that. There is fucking _feline_ DNA all _over_ my leather couch just because you morons can't figure out your stupid love lives without yanking me along with you. And there is also a tiny lump of crying _mess_ on my bed right now-"

"Is she okay?" he asks, worried.

"Sure, if getting snot all over my sheets is your definition of okay," she answers sarcastically.

"I don't know what to do," he tells her quietly. He listens to her very loud, very exaggerated sigh of annoyance.

"Forty eight hours. That is about the limit of all my good deeds Hudson. Forty eight hours and I'm hauling the mutt and Berry's asses back to your dump, so I suggest you figure it the hell out now."

Xxx

He's nowhere closer to figuring anything out the next morning, and bickering ten year olds are no help at all.

One of his kids catches a bad virus and barely five minutes in, he's stretching himself thin between trying to comfort the crying boy (whether from the pain or from the humiliation of puking his guts out in front of the entire class he can't be sure), and trying to tamper down the other children, clearly disturbed by the sight of their chewed up lunch, and then some, all over his desk.

Half the class is absent the next day.

He should have known that he'd be next.

Xxx

He moans incoherently as he pushes the comforter away from his overheating body. It is so fucking hot, so why the hell is he still shivering?

It's like he's melting or something, his body feels slick with sweat and he can't smell a damn thing and this must be what the depths of hell feels like, the perpetually uncontrollable shivering included. Blindly reaching for his bedside table, he swallows the last of his Ibuprofen before leaning on his side in a fetal position, his pathetic attempt to stop his body from shaking.

The world spins in front of him every single time he tries to open his eyes and he barely made it through his phone call to the school.

Shit, what kind of zombie virus is this?

Xxx

He's stuck in the land between waking and dreaming, but he figures he'll still make it. Yeah, sure, he did just see a T-Rex parading around in a pink tutu in front of his bed, but the important thing was to be aware that he's hallucinating, right? But just to be safe, he keeps his eyes closed.

"Finn?"

Great, now he's hearing voices. He moans again, not even bothering to turn his sweat-drenched body into a more comfortable position. It's absolutely pointless anyway, because there is no comfort to be found anywhere.

"Finn?" His brows furrow and he winces from the blinding pain that small action inflicts on his forehead. Somewhere in the back of his heavily medicated and virus-addled brain, he makes out the sound of her voice. He tries to call her name, but what comes out is another incoherent groan. Vaguely, he hears the creak of the bedroom door before he feels a cool hand on his forehead.

"Finn, you're burning up." Her voice is worried, alarmed. She says her words softly, probably, but it still feels like someone just crashed a pair of cymbals together right next to his eardrums.

"Sorry," she whispers when he grimaces. Her hand moves from his forehead to the curve of his jaw, and the coolness soothes him.

"Rachel," he finally mumbles, his voice hoarse and barely there.

"Ssh. Don't talk. You need to rest."

"Don't leave," he mutters when the cool relief of her touch disappears.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Xxx

He goes in and out of fitful sleep, and by the tenth time he opens his eyes, he's convinced that she must be real as she presses a cool compressor to his head.

He missed her.

"I miss you," he mumbles, eyes still closed.

"I'm right here," she promises, her voice calming him. He forces his eyes open and vaguely makes out the outline of her face. He believes her.

"Where'd you go?" he asks. She looks like she might be confused, and he tries his best to clarify. "Where'd you go Rach?"

"I-"

"You're not s'posed to leave me y'know," he mumbles, closing his eyes again because keeping them open hurts his head. "How're we gonna get married if you leave me?"

"Finn,"

"Promise you won't go away anymore," he mumbles, frowning. He can't think straight, but he's pretty sure that this is important.

"Finn-"

"Promise me Rach!" He winces, the loud sound of his own voice causing a sharp pain in his head.

"You need to rest," she answers softly.

"Not until you promise me."

She doesn't say anything for a long time, or maybe it just feels long 'cause he's feeling like crap. He thinks maybe he's fallen asleep and didn't hear her. Her fingers run softly through his matted hair and he leans involuntarily into her touch.

"I promise."

Xxx

She's still there when he wakes up again, and he thinks maybe this zombie virus won't kill him after all.

She's sitting at the edge of the bed and he frowns, wondering why she's so far away. It hits him that she probably won't want to get to close and catch his virus. Rachel hates getting sick, since she's always terrified at the thought of anything damaging her vocal chords.

"You don't have to stay here," he croaks out. She looks up and smiles at him.

"You're up," she says warmly. "How are you feeling?"

He grimaces.

"I think the zombies are trying to kill me really slowly."

"What?"

Why does she sound so amused? This is totally serious.

"You shouldn't be here," he tells her instead. "You might catch it and then they'll get you too."

"The zombies?"

"Yeah, well maybe you could be a cute zombie," he rambles on, barely aware of what he's saying. "Like the first singing zombie or something."

"Singing zombie, huh?"

"I think that's what they're trying to get you for."

"To sing?"

He tries to nod, but that hurts too much.

"Yeah. It makes sense right?"

"Completely."

"Don't you have rehearsals today?" he asks, the exhaustion overtaking him again.

"No," she says in a quiet tone. "Not today."

"Kay. Hey Rach?" he mumbles, eyes half-closed. "Will you sing something for me?"

"Finn-"

"Please baby? I feel like crap."

"I might not be very good," she tells him hesitantly in a small voice. He scoffs at that because c'mon. He's sick, but he's not _that_ sick.

"Rachel, you have the most amazing voice I've ever heard in my life."

"What do you want me to sing?" she finally asks after he almost falls asleep again.

"Anything," he mumbles. "I just want to listen to you."

It's quiet in his room, and he wonders if maybe the zombie virus is messing with his hearing, until he hears the hum of her voice. Instantly, he feels himself comforted. It feels like he hasn't heard it for years, even though he's pretty sure he must have and not remembered.

Rachel never goes a day without singing.

She sings a lullaby, he can't remember what it is now but it's a children's song his mom used to sing to him all the time, something about sunshine and happiness. He feels the warmth of her fingers against his cheek as she lulls him into a peaceful sleep.

Xxx

His fever breaks after 48 hours.

He wakes up a little disoriented when he feels a warm pressure on his chest, and opens his eyes to find himself eye to eye with a white furry face.

"Hey Buddy," he whispers, reaching out to pat Star on the head as she mewls softly. He hears a loud gasp coming from the door and looks up to find Rachel frowning as she hurries over to him to pick the cat up.

"Star I told you not to disturb Finn when he's trying to rest," she admonishes, holding it up to face her. Star answers with another mewl and he grins.

"I don't mind," he says from the bed. She turns to look at him and shakes her head.

"Regardless. She should know better than that."

"You're back," he says softly, ignoring her rant. She turns to him in surprise before she smiles.

"I am."

"Are you staying?" he asks carefully. He vaguely remembers her being around for the last two days. He remembers her voice, soft and clear as she sang to him. She holds Star close to her, hugging the small animal to her chest as she looks at him, her face unreadable.

"I want to," she answers quietly before she offers him a small smile.

He feels great, better than he has for days actually.

He's attributing a lot of that to the woman in front of him now.

"Then stay."

Xxx

He's got another day left on his sick leave, and he spends nearly the first half of that morning arguing with Rachel on who should get the bedroom. In the end she wins because she's adamant not to let him move from the bed, and no matter how much he tells her that he's well enough to move around, she stubbornly refuses to let him.

She spends her time fussing over every little thing and he tries hard not to take too much advantage of it. But it's a little hard when all he wants to do is pull her into bed and let her coddle him to her heart's content. She makes him a batch of her 'foolproof' chicken soup, and he refrains himself from telling her that it still tastes the way it used to.

"Thanks," he tells her with a smile a little later in the evening as he watches her carry in his dinner, precariously trying to avoid Star, who's hot on her heels. She smiles at him warmly as she sets it down next to his bedside table. He shifts a little to make room for her to sit.

"No problem," she tells him. "I- well I've always liked taking care of people, but I guess I never had that many people to look after. Jesse was always too independent for that and-"

She stops hesitantly until he places an encouraging hand over hers, currently resting on her lap. She smiles at him.

"Well, ever since my mom passed away I guess I didn't really have anyone to look after."

"I'm sorry," he tells her earnestly. She shrugs, as she shakes her head, leaning forward to grab the bowl. He wants to know more, wants to tell her to keep talking and stop holding back, but she's already holding a spoon up to his mouth and he refrains.

The faraway look in her eyes doesn't go away.

"Are you okay?" he finally asks.

"I'm fine," she tells him. He wants to tell her that 'fine' is not that look on her face, but he doesn't. He shrugs instead, because he's starting to learn who Rachel Corcoran is, and he gets the feeling that biding his time is the best way to get her to open up.

Sure enough, five spoonfuls later she stops again, leaving the spoon in its bowl as she turns towards him, her expression pensive.

"What?" he asks softly.

"I was going to name her Shelby," she tells him quietly, looking down at her hands like they're the most interesting thing in the world. "My- my little girl."

"Rachel-"

"She was going to be perfect, you know? My perfect thing. I was- I mean Jesse never really wanted her, I don't think. He didn't _not_ want her," she says hastily when his eyebrows start to crease. "I just meant that, we were so young, and he had plans, and anyone could see how a baby would be a wrench thrown into it, but he- he stepped up anyway, you know? I was prepared to raise her all by myself regardless and- anyway," she stops, shaking her head.

"I was determined that I was going to be the best mom ever. She was going to be happy and perfect and beautiful and- and I was going to let all her dreams come true. I was- I wanted to call her Shelby after my mother, but- but I guess I was never meant to be one. Maybe- maybe she knew I'd be a bad mom-"

"That's _not_ true," he interrupts forcefully, leaning forward to wipe away a stray tear. She shakes her head, allowing him to pull her closer.

"I knew something was wrong," she whispers as she leans back to rest her head on his chest. "From the moment I woke up. She- she wasn't kicking, and she was real quiet. Jesse told me I was being paranoid. But when- when it's been hours and she was still so quiet, I demanded him to take me to the hospital. I-"

"Sssh," he whispers as she starts to cry, turning her body to bury her face in his chest, her arms circling around his waist, fingers curling into his shirt. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

He shifts further towards the middle of the bed, pulling her with him. She holds him tighter, her body shaking. He presses a kiss on the top of her head without thinking.

"I had her for seven months," she says, her words muffled against his shirt. "And then she was gone. I never even got to see her. Jesse wouldn't let me see her. They- they took her out and when I woke up she was gone."

"I'm so sorry baby," he whispers. She shakes her head, pulling away to wipe her face.

"It's been years," she says, laughing humourlessly. "I really should get over this. It's part of the reason my marriage didn't work out, among other things."

"You loved her," he says. "When someone you love leaves you, it's not just something you get over."

The look she gives him is scrutinizing.

"No?" she whispers. He feels the shift in the atmosphere acutely as he sees her start to pull back.

"Rachel-"

"I don't sing," she says suddenly.

"I know you don't-"

"But I used to, a lot, when I was pregnant. I read somewhere, that it helps, you know, build a connection between you and your baby. My mom hated it when I sang. She was- she wanted me to be practical, because big dreams get you nowhere and she was living proof of that. She didn't want me to be disappointed, so she did everything she could to shield me from it. I listened to her because I wanted to make her happy, but that didn't really work out. I- I sang to my baby, because I thought that would make her happy, but- but that didn't work out either."

"Rachel-"

"I- I sang to you because-"

Her body is trembling as she hiccups, tears filling her eyes.

"Because- because what, Rachel?" he asks carefully, slowly inching forwards, not wanting to scare her off. She shakes her head when he wraps his fingers around one wrist, looking up at him with a look of despair on her face.

"Because I love you," she tells him, pulling her hand away and standing abruptly. He doesn't get to say anything, because she chooses to leave, swiftly walking out the door, leaving him bewildered.

Xxx

It takes him about thirty seconds to find his bearings and jump out of bed to follow her, ignoring the vertigo that comes with two days of nothing but sleep and medicine.

"Rachel," he calls out loud, marching up towards his door to tear it open. His eyes scan the room to find her gone.

"Rachel," he calls out again, louder this time as he knocks on the bathroom door. He pushes it open to find it empty. He shakes his head, feeling his heart beating furiously as he tries to think of where she could go. He doesn't know, but this doesn't get to end here, not if he has anything to say about it. He turns in determination as he heads towards the door, ignoring his jacket and the cat on his heels.

"Finn."

He turns around just as his hand is twisting the doorknob. She stands just under the doorway of the guest room, her face unreadable. He stalks over to her.

"You don't get to do that," he tells her angrily. "You don't get to tell me you love me and then leave me just like that."

"I don't-"

"No, you don't get to talk. It's my turn."

"Fine," she answers, sighing as she folds her arms across her chest. "What do you want to say?"

"I love you," he tells her firmly. Her eyes widen before she shakes her head again.

"No shut up," he snaps when she opens her mouth to speak. "Don't talk to me like I don't know how I feel. I _know_ how I feel. I love you Rachel. _You_. And- and you think you're not, but you are. You _are_ her, because she's you. I- I know this doesn't make sense, okay? _None_ of this makes any sense, but if you think all I'm doing is holding on to the past than you're just stupid or crazy, or maybe both. But you know what?" he asks, holding out a hand to stop her from butting in again.

"It doesn't even matter, because I love you anyway. Every single part of you, the parts that you can remember and the parts that you can't, because they're all _you_. I don't- I don't love you because you used to be someone else, okay? I love that you cry every single time some cute animal comes on tv just like I used to love that you cried every single time you sang a solo. I- I love that you've only been to one school dance and it scarred you for life, but you went with me anyway, and you- you danced with me and never complained once about how terrible I was because it's just like you not to complain anything. And- and I love how you care, how you put so much effort into loving a cat, and- and Santana. And _me_. I love you with or without a past, with or without a Jesse St. James, with or without a baby. I love that you trust me, that you ran away, and you ran to _me_. Can't you see that that _means_ something? Can't you see that we're _supposed_ to be together?"

His hands are on her shoulders, his chest heaving. He clamps his hands tightly on either side of her as she cries.

"But I'm not-"

"You _are_," he answers forcefully. "You are her. I fell in love with a woman who believed in me, who- who thought so _much_ of some lame school teacher like me, who nobody ever really thought much of-"

"You're a great teacher-"

"Just- just as much as I thought of her crazy Broadway dreams. Just as much as I think of you now," he finishes in a quieter tone.

Somewhere in between marching up to her and saying all he did, her hands have found their way to rest on his chest, and he knows by the way she presses into it, that she can feel exactly how hard his heart beats for her.

"You think of me?" she whispers as she looks up, her eyes bloodshot, dried tears staining her face. He shakes his head wryly, pulling her closer by the shoulders, wiping her tears away with his thumb.

"You're _all_ I think about," he confesses. "I don't even care how pathetic that sounds."

She lets out a sound between a sob and a laugh as she leans closer, wrapping both arms around his waist.

"I- I love you," she whispers against his chest

"I love you too," he whispers back, tightening his hold on her as she sighs. He feels himself relaxing, finslly, for the first time in months. "Just promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"Promise me you'll stop running."

She pulls away to look up at him, her puffy eyes conveying a million things he's starting to remember.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Xxx

He turns on his side cautiously, holding his breath. He's not sure if this is real. Maybe he's still sick. Maybe everything that just happened was borne out of his sick and delirious mind. But he still remembers the feel of her kiss, the way his fingers threaded through her soft hair when she had pulled him even closer, for once being the one who took things further.

He's pretty sure that really happened.

He reaches forward, his hand resting on the curve of her shoulder. She doesn't move as she sleeps on, and he slowly runs his hand down her arms, dipping into the curve of her waist to come to a rest on her hip. He shifts closer, and she sighs as she turns around to face him, her eyes still closed. He freezes as one leg moves to wrap itself around his.

He smiles, feeling her even breathing against his face.

This is real.

* * *

><p><em>So brown eyes I hold you near<br>Cause you're the only song I want to hear  
>A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere<em>

* * *

><p>Lyrics to Soul Meets Body by Deah Cab for Cutie<p> 


	8. Rediscovering you

**A/N: 8 chapters later, and it is _finally_ done. Thank you to everyone who has shown their appreciation for this story, and thanks to CSM, without whom, I would have never thought of writing something like this at all.**

* * *

><p><em>And I'm shaking then I'm still <em>

_When your eyes meet mine I lose simple skills_

_Like to tell you all I want is now_

* * *

><p>They're taking things slow. Like, really, really slow. But like Santana said before, at least they're moving, right? He wonders when the day will be where she'd stop looking at him like she's asking for permission before she kisses him or hold his hand, but they're getting there. It's the start of a new relationship after all, and he wants her to have the best version of one that she can possibly have, and if that means pretending for a while that he doesn't know exactly all the ways she likes to be held, then that's what it means.<p>

Besides, there's something about the way she tentatively threads her fingers through his as she looks away with a smile, her cheeks staining pink. Or the way she announces out loud, every time she's about to hug him, like she's afraid she'll scare him off otherwise or something. It's kind of adorable, and he knows it's her way of showing just how important this is to her too.

There's this small smile she perpetually has on her face, and every time she catches him looking, she blushes before she turns away, that smile getting just a little wider. It drives him crazy, and it kind of makes him want to just kiss her all the time, which he does, sometimes just to see the way her eyes light up when he does it. The first time they go grocery shopping together, which was just a week ago, her smile was so wide that he couldn't help himself from leaning down to kiss her every ten minutes or so. He's pretty sure the cashier rolled her eyes at them at least five times while they were waiting in line, but they can't help it.

They're just happy.

The only thing that _is_ moving fast between them is the fact that she's moved into the bedroom for good now, and he's in it too. The initial plan to take things slow had included sleeping in separate beds, but that lasted for about two days, until she had woke him up in the middle of the night, dark circles under her eyes as she sits at the edge of the couch.

"What's wrong?" he had asked, his voice raw from sleep.

Her eyes filled up with tears, and from the way she's hugging herself so tightly around her waist, he had the feeling he knew what it was about.

"I had a nightmare," she whispered as he sits up to pull her close. She took his hand without a word and he followed her as she led him to the bedroom. They spent the night laying side by side, not touching, but facing each other until her eyes fluttered close. It had been an unspoken agreement between them ever since, when the same thing happened the next day.

He loves to watch her when she sleeps, because it feels like the only time she ever really gets to let all her guards down. She's still a little closed off around him when she's awake, and sometimes he gets the feeling that she thinks there are parts of her that he won't love. Her neurotic side is always present, no matter what her last name is. It just shows itself in different ways. She's carefree when she sleeps, knowing that he's beside her, and he loves every little thing about her, from the way her tiny limbs feel like they're everywhere in the middle of the night, when he wakes up to find a leg on his stomach or an arm draped across his forehead, to the way she drools a little and gets really embarrassed about it when she wakes up and hastily wipes it away.

She mumbles in her sleep, incoherent words in soft whispers, and at first he worries that it might be her nightmares, but she giggles once, and she says his name once, and now all he does is grin like an idiot when he hears those indistinct whispers.

They're taking things slow, but things are kind of perfect just the way they are.

Xxx

They talk about her past, about her marriage and about her childhood, and all the things he's ever wanted to know but was too cautious to ask before. He now knows about Ellie, her old stuffed pig, the one she had bashfully pulled out from the bottom of her suitcase, its pink color fading and stuffing leaking out of an open seam.

"She was my bestfriend when I was a kid," she tells him, a little embarrassed. "Actually, she was my bestfriend until I realized that talking to a stuffed animal is the kind of thing that gets you into a straighjacket."

She tells him she loved to sing when she was a child, how she used to stay up at night after her mom had gone to bed, pulling out all her mother's old DVDs and memorizing every single one of Fanny Brice's lines by the time she was eight.

She tells him about her mother, and that's a little harder to fish out. He doesn't push her, but she cries in his arms when she tells him how Shelby had came home drunk when she was fifteen, and freaked out to find her watching The Way We Were, screaming at Rachel that she'll never let her only daughter ruin her future over some silly dream.

"That was the last time I ever sang in front of her," she whispers. "She just- she scared me so much, and I- I know she's right. But I just-"

"She's _not_."

"What?"

"She's not right," he tells her, pulling away to look her in the eye. "Rachel, you- you're _amazing_, and you don't even know it."

She shakes her head, but he won't let this go.

"Look, trust me, okay? You _made_ it Rachel. I used to sit in the front row of every performance you gave, and you _nailed_ it, every single time. You made it off-Broadway, and you'll make it to Broadway, I just know it. You just- you just have to _believe_ in yourself."

She turns away from him, extricating herself from his grasp as she frowns.

"I think we've established before that I'm _not_ Rachel Berry."

"That's not-"

"You need to stop trying to turn me into her Finn," she tells him shortly as she stands, stalking towards their room. The door slams behind her and he stares at it, mouth agape.

She doesn't open it for hours, and when it's close to ten, he decides to try his luck. He opens the door slowly to find her on the bed, turned away from him. Cautiously, he makes his way over to her to find her eyes closed, her breathing even. He sighs as he walks to his side of the bed, the mattress dipping to accommodate him as he inches himself closer to her.

"I'm sorry," he whispers when he's right next to her. She doesn't answer and he leans over her to turn off the bedside lamp. He stares up into the darkness for five minutes before he feels her shifting closer to him, her hand finding his in the dark.

"I'm sorry too," she tells him. He breathes a sigh of relief, turning to wrap an arm around her. She burrows herself further into his arms, and it's silent as they lie together.

"I believe in _you_," he says quietly.

"I know."

Xxx

"I wanna take you somewhere," he says as they walk hand in hand down the stairs of their apartment. He's taking her on a date. A real date, that doesn't involve school dances, Santana's drunken insinuations in a noisy club, or quiet nights holed up in their home.

He's taking her to her first Broadway show. She had been excited all week, randomly calling him up while he was at school to ask him again if it's the right show, or the right time, or the right day, right up until he lets her keep their tickets for safekeeping.

"After Rock of Ages?" she asks, her fingers tightening around him at the mention of the show. He grins, shaking his head.

"Nope. Next weekend."

"Oh. Where are we going?"

"Lima. It's my mom's birthday."

She stops abruptly at the bottom of the stairs, and he turns to find her looking up at him apprehensively.

"You're taking me to see your family?" she asks nervously.

"Yeah. It'll be great."

"I- Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."

"But- but what if they don't like me?"

"They're going to love you," he tells her affectionately, leaning down to kiss her. It doesn't seem to make her feel better.

"Kurt doesn't," she mumbles. He sighs, pulling against her hand as they continue walking.

"He likes you, he just- he's not used to it yet, you know, this whole thing."

"Well, then what if your mom feels the same way?"

"She doesn't."

"How do you know?" she demands.

"I just do, okay? My mother loves you."

"You mean she loved Rachel Berry," she answers bitterly, trying to pull her hand away from him. He won't let her.

"No," he insists, smiling down at her pouting face. "It's because you make me so irrevocably, ridiculously, _stupidly_ happy."

Her pout turns into a small smile that turns into a beam as she nudges his shoulder.

"Really?"

"_Really_, really."

She pretends to think about it for a little while longer before she grins.

"Okay. Now let's go. We're going to be late!"

"We're like, two hours ahead of schedule," he answers dryly, allowing her to pull him along.

Xxx

"Are you sure about this?" Rachel asks nervously as she softly strokes Star's fur to keep her composure.

"Relax," he says. "She'll totally do it."

"How do you know?"

"'Cause she may act like she's a total and complete straight up bitch, but underneath all those razor sharp words is a good heart," he answers, shrugging. He turns to knock on the door.

"For the record, I do not condone the act of putting our bestfriend in a tight spot like this," she mutters as Santana opens her door. She takes one look at the cat in Rachel's arms and the carrier in Finn's hand, and she shakes her head.

"Oh, _hell_ no."

"San-"

"No _fucking_ way. What the hell made you two think for one second that I'll do this?"

"Because underneath all that misplaced anger is a good person?" Rachel asks hopefully.

"Fuck you Berry. The last time that _thing_ came here, it fucking left scratches on my marble floor."

"Santana c'mon. You know we can't take her with us."

"So leave her at a freaking pet hotel or something. Why the hell are you bringing her here?"

"Because you love us?" he says with a wide smile.

"Nice try Strectch, but no."

"Fine. We'll pay you. 300 bucks a day," Finn says. Santana eyes him with interest.

"And why would I agree to this?"

"'Cause you're fucking broke," he tells her wryly.

"You two really need to stop swearing so much," Rachel mutters from the side.

"You make a good point," Santana says, ignoring her. "Fine. But she stays in that damn cage. And I swear Hudson, if she pees, on _anything, _I will fucking drown her in my bathtub."

Rachel's eye widen in alarm as he rolls his, her hold on Star tightening as the cat mewls and burrows closer against her.

"Deal," he says.

xxx

They meet Kurt at the airport, and he's a total bitch, barely acknowledging any of Rachel's attempts to be friendly. He sees her deflating with each brush-off, until she excuses herself, kissing his cheek before getting up off her seat.

"Cut it out," he hisses under his breath when Rachel makes her way to the toilet. "You're being an ass."

Kurt turns to look at him with the worst 'surprised' look he has ever seen.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Kurt," he says warningly. "I'm serious. Be nice. She's trying really hard to get you to like her."

Kurt looks at him, their gazes holding for a moment before his brother sighs.

"I just don't trust her. What if she-"

"She won't."

"You don't even know what I'm about to say."

"No, but I know what you're thinking, and she won't okay? She loves me."

"She loved you before," Kurt says pointedly. He sighs, rolling his eyes.

"You know that's different."

"So? What if something like that happens again? I saw what she did to you Finn. She really messed you up. I just-"

"Kurt _please_," he cuts in, slightly annoyed. "That wasn't exactly her fault. It wasn't her fault at all actually."

Kurt doesn't say a word, but he looks out at the direction Rachel went, turning back to Finn when he sees that she's nowhere in sight.

"Remember what you told me?" he asks quietly, looking down at the glass of champagne in his hand. "When we were sixteen?"

"What does-"

"At our parents wedding?" Kurt stresses, ignoring his response. "You remember what you said?"

He nods, wondering just where in heck Kurt is going with this.

"You told me that we're brothers now, and that you were going to have my back no matter what, 'cause- 'cause I'm family. Remember that?"

"Yeah," he says, his annoyance dissipating just a little. "Yeah I remember."

"Remember what happened a few weeks later?"

Finn shakes his head, grinning slightly.

"I got suspended for beating the crap out of Dave Karofsky when he tried to mess with you."

"You protected me," Kurt tells him solemnly. "Because that's what families do. I just- I never told you before, but you know it goes both ways, right?"

"I know Kurt."

"So I just- I don't want to just stand around and watch you get hurt all over again. I just- I don't trust her."

He says nothing, honestly surprised by how much this is affecting his brother.

"Then trust _me_," he finally says. Kurt opens his mouth to speak again, but he plows through. "Trust me, and the fact that I _know_ this is right. I love her Kurt."

"I know you do."

"Great. So, you know, try? For me?"

Kurt purses his lips before he sighs.

"Fine. But for the love of God Finn, take the woman to another show. If I have to listen about what a revelation Rock of Ages is _one_ more time, I will seriously glue her mouth shut."

He grins.

"I promise."

xxx

His mom's birthday is on Saturday, and they arrive on Friday night. They find his mom and Burt waiting for them anxiously at the arrivals gallery. Kurt, in his effort to be nicer to Rachel, does the introductions all over again, and as she shyly holds out her hand for a handshake, his mom pulls her into a bear hug. Rachel freezes for a moment as she looks at him a little helplessly and he smiles when she starts to relax and returns the gesture. His mom gives the best hugs ever, as evident by the smile on his girlfriend's face.

His mom loves her.

And like he told Rachel before, of course she does. He knows Rachel is a little taken aback by her enthusiasm, but she doesn't let it show. And his mom's trying really hard not to overwhelm her either, since he's warned her that it might be a bit much for Rachel. But they're both trying really hard to please the other, and it's just another reminder of why he loves them both as much as he does, because they're doing it for him.

"I made my famous tuna casserole," his mom tells them. "You'll love it Rachel. It was always your favorite."

"Mom, Rachel's-"

"It sounds great Carole. I'm sure I will," Rachel cuts in, elbowing his ribs before he could tell his mom that she's a vegan.

He hides a smile when she takes a big bite out of her casserole. He doesn't tell her that she never liked his mom's tuna casserole. She pretended that she did the last time too.

She wakes him bright and early the next day, too early for him in fact, and tells him that she wants to see everything there is to see.

"There's really not much to see," he tells her, still half asleep as he takes her in. it's six in the morning and she's already dressed and ready to go as she grins at him, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"Regardless," she tells him. "I've never in my life been anywhere outside of New York before."

So he shows her Lima, or as she calls it, his Lima. He shows her the places of his childhood, the same places he's shown her once before.

"So this is where you win all your football games," she teases as they walk through the field of William McKinley High. He snorts, draping his arms casually around her shoulders.

"We were like, the worst football team in history. I think we won like, a handful of games. Granted, I was the Quarterback in all of them," he boasts. She laughs.

"So I guess you were the school hero."

"Not exactly. I mean, yeah I won them a few games, but it didn't change the fact that I was a 'musical fairy'."

"What's that?"

"That's what they used to call the kids in the glee club," he answers, shrugging. "But whatever, you just get used to it after a while."

"Is that how you became a music teacher?" she asks. He nods his head enthusiastically.

"Yeah, I had this awesome teacher, Mr. Schue. He was the one who got me into the club in the first place. I was just a little punk before I met him."

"I have trouble picturing you as little at any given age," she teases.

"Okay fine. Not so little. We never won anything. Well, we actually made it to Regionals once in senior year, but I loved every minute of it."

"We had a glee club at my school. I always wished I could be a part of it," she says wistfully. He smiles, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

"If you were around to join us, we would have won everything for sure," he tells her confidently.

"You believe in me too much," she murmurs, blushing.

"You don't believe in yourself enough."

Xxx

He goes upstairs to change when he gets home, and as he walks down the stairs, he vaguely hears Rachel and Kurt talking.

Silently creeping up to the doorway of the kitchen, he tries not to make too much noise, which is actually really hard considering his size, as he listens in.

"I know you don't like me," she tells his brother quietly. He frowns. "I just- can you just please tell me why?"

"I don't have any problems with you."

"You're lying."

"Look, Rachel, you're a nice girl, and Finn loves you, and I guess that's good enough for me, so-"

"Well it's not good enough for _me_, okay? I want you to like me Kurt. I just- I don't want anyone Finn loves to hate me."

"I don't hate you Rachel," Kurt says in surprised.

"Well you could have fooled me," she mutters. He holds his breath through the few seconds of silence, before Kurt starts speaking again.

"He loves you."

"I know. I love him too."

"It seriously messed with him, you know? When you forgot who he was. He just- I've never seen him that torn up about _anything_. And it's- I know it's not your fault Rachel, okay? But I can't help it. I just- what If it happens again? What if you forget him, or- or fall out of love with him, if you hurt him again. I just don't want to see my brother go through the same thing he did. If it happens again, it'll kill him."

His brows furrow, both in frustration and anger at Kurt's words, and he's about to step out and speak up on her behalf, when Rachel finally breaks the silence.

"I know," she tells him quietly. He stays where he is. "I- I feel the same way, in the beginning. I tried. I tired to stay away from him, because I thought that I would only hurt him, but I couldn't. I just- I realized something through everything that has happened. I realized that it _doesn't_ matter. Even if by some crazy stroke of bad luck, I forget everything again, Finn, he'll- he'll _make_ me remember. It doesn't matter who I am Kurt, it doesn't matter _where_ I am, because- because we're meant to be together. It feels like, like even if I hadn't _been_ Rachel Berry, even if I had been _myself all_ this time, our paths would have still crossed, you know? It was only a matter of time. I know that."

She lets out a short laugh, and he pictures her rueful smile, the self-deprecating turn of her lips.

"That's about the only thing I know, really. No matter where I am, not matter _who_ I am, he'll always be the one for me."

The deafening silence of the house could only be matched by the loud thumping of his heart, beating more and more erratically with every word she says, as he leans against the wall, bowled over and once again having his breath taken away by the tiny woman standing in his kitchen.

"That was beautiful," Kurt whispers, and he smiles, because it is.

It really, really is.

Xxx

He's quiet all throughout his mom's birthday dinner as they sit side by side, their fingers interlocked under the dinner table. He watches as she laughs along to a joke Burt just made. She fits in with his parents, and after her heart to heart with Kurt, she fits in with his brother too.

She just fits with every single part of him. He knew this before, and he knows it now. It's just like she said, they're meant to be. It's been almost a year since he lost her and found her again, and he figures it won't be long until he sees the ring on her finger again, where it belongs.

"She's wonderful," his mom whispers as they clear the table together. She leans up to kiss his cheek, her eyes shining as she smiles. "I'm so happy for you Finn."

"Thanks mom," he says, grinning. "Happy Birthday, by the way. I know we all sang it to you, but I figured you'd like to hear it."

"Thanks honey. It is, it's a very happy birthday, because you're happy, and that's all I've ever wanted. You _are_ happy, aren't you Finn?"

"Yeah," he answers, smiling ruefully as he leaves the dirty plates on the table to give her a hug. "Yeah I am."

Xxx

He trudges up the stairs to his room, the smile he's had since earlier in the day still held in place.

It's been a pretty perfect day.

Pushing his door open, he hears her gasp before he sees her, standing in the middle of the room in her underwear, with her shirt hanging off her neck.

"Finn!" she cries, her voice strangled. "Close the door!"

"Oh! Sorry!" he apologizes hastily, quickly closing the door behind him. She had turned on his bedside lamp, so it's not all that bright. But even from this light, he can see every single inch of her skin reddening as she tries to pull her shirt down as quickly as she can. But his eye catches the long gash along the left side of her abdomen before she could cover it up. He walks over to her without thinking, holding out one hand to stop her movements.

"Is that from the accident?" he asks quietly, pulling her shirt up to trace one finger over her long scar. "I've never seen this before."

Her skin is on fire as his finger moves from the space just below her ribs to wear the scar stops, slightly above the waistband of her panties. The light from his bedside lamp casts shadows against her skin, and he narrows his eyes for a clearer view.

"Yeah," she whispers quietly, her voice trembling.

"Did it hurt?" he asks, his fingers spanning across her hipbone to hold her. "I just- I've always wanted to ask you, but well, there was a lot going on."

"I barely noticed the pain through everything else," she answers honestly, inching herself closer to him. Her movement startles him, and that's when he realizes their positions. She's looking up at him through her lashes, and his mouth turns a little dry. He hasn't seen her this way since before the accident. Her face is burning up and he realizes that to her knowledge, she hasn't been around him this way _ever_.

"I-"

"Are there any others?" he asks, his voice coming off huskier than usual. His fingers trail up to her navel of their own accord as he feels her stomach caving in slightly from his touch. "From the accident?"

She stares up at him curiously, her eyes darkening as she holds her breath.

"There's- there's another one, right here," she says quietly, pulling away from him to pull her shirt over his head. She stands in front of him, in her bra and panties, as she points to a discolored space under her left arm. He smiles when he sees it.

"That's not from the accident," he tells her.

"It's not?"

"No, that was-" He laughs as he remembers. "That was when you and Santana were convinced that she was strong enough to do that Dirty Dancing move with you, you know, the one where the guy holds the girl up in the air? Only, she totally wasn't, and I got a call at school from the doctor. You had to get four stitches for that."

She looks at him, dumbfounded.

"I- What else about my body don't I know?" she asks incredulously.

"Well," he says, reaching over to her to turn her around. She shivers slightly as he runs his finger slowly from the top of her right shoulder to stop under her shoulder blade. "Did you know you have a small scar? Right here."

"No," she answers, appalled as she turns her head around to get a look. He grins, shaking his head.

"You need a mirror to see this one."

"I was really clumsy when I was Rachel Berry, huh?" she asks in a quiet voice, looking up at him. His finger still rests on her back, and he slowly moves it to her arm, wrapping his hand around it to turn her back around.

"That was kind of my fault," he admits sheepishly, his breath a little caught in his throat when she places her palms flat against his chest. "I might have bowled you over one day in the music room, and you might have fallen back against the drums."

She grins as he wraps his arms around her, his thumb brushing soothingly against the small scar at her back.

"Might have?"

"By that I mean totally did."

She throws back her head as she laughs.

"You're a dangerous man Finn Hudson," she whispers in a soft voice as she stands up on her tiptoes, waiting expectantly for him lean down and kiss her.

There's a beat of a second where he could practically the blood rushing through his ears when he looks down at her.

"You can kiss me," she whispers, amusement lacing her voice at his pause, but he hears the nerves too. "You know, if you want to."

He does, leaning down to crush his lips against hers, pulling her up towards him.

Her skin burns up under his touch, and _God_, he's touching her _everywhere_, his hands roaming across her bare back to rest on the slight dip just above her hips. She moans against him when he pulls her closer, her hands making their way under his shirt. He sucks in his breath when he feels the cool brush of her tiny fingers against his heated skin.

They're going further than they've ever been, and as much as his brain is telling him to stop and asks her if she's sure, the rest of him is saying that this is it, the right moment.

She tastes sweet, like the strawberries they had for dessert, with the slightest bitter taste of coffee present, and when he pulls away, a small pout makes its way onto her face, until he trails his lips to the curve of her jaw. She moans his name, her hands gripping the back of his head as he pulls her up completely, her legs locking around his waist. He runs his tongue from the soft skin of her neck to the top of her clavicle, nipping it gently, his heart racing.

"_Finn_," she gasps, pulling him back up to look at her. Her eyes are wild as she looks at him, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his. His knees hit the edge of the bed, and he looks down in confusion for a split second. He didn't realize they were even moving in the first place. All coherent thought flies out the window however, when he hears her shallow breath against his ear, her tongue against his skin.

"I want you," he whispers urgently against her lips. "_God_, Rachel. I want you so much."

The air between them mingles together, short, stunted gasps of breaths filling the room. His eyes flutter shut as her teeth graze against his swollen lips.

"You have me," she whispers back, her hold on him tightening as he slowly lowers her down on the mattress.

"Are you- are you sure?" he asks quietly as he pulls away. Her fingers are nimbly unbuttoning his dress shirt, and she trembles as one of his hands cups around the soft flesh of her chest, still covered in her bra. Her hair is wild, fanning out against the blue and white stripes of his pillows, and she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, her flushed cheeks and her swollen lips and her glazed eyes sending a sharp spike of desire straight through his entire body.

"_Yes_," she whispers forcefully. "Please- please don't stop."

He smiles down at her, fingers trembling as they slide under her back to find the clasp of her bra.

"I won't," he promises, leaning down to kiss her again.

Xxx

"You have another one right here," he whispers against the inside of her thigh, his lips moving over a small scar. "I always wondered where this was from."

"Third grade," she whispers breathlessly. "I had an accident with a pair of scissors- Oh. _God_. Don't stop."

Xxx

"_Rachel_," he breathes out against her skin as she reaches out to touch him, guiding him towards her.

He could tell her he knows every inch of her like the back of his hands, but he doesn't.

She's guiding him home.

"I love you," she whispers, her words strangled in her throat as he fills her. His eyes roll to the back of his head as he grunts, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

"I love you too."

Xxx

His head is on her chest as he listens to her heartbeats, slowly coming down from their initial high. The sweat on her skin is starting to dry up, and as she runs her fingers softly through his hair, he hears her humming a melody.

He smiles against her skin, pulling his head up to look at her.

"I love that song," he tells her quietly.

"I know," she says, smiling down at him. "I heard it in your truck today."

They share a quiet look between them, and it feels like a promise.

Like the start of forever.

He slides up against her, rolling his body to rest playfully over her as she giggles.

"If I just happen to ask you to marry me," he whispers against her lips, his hands roaming her sides. "How much would that freak you out?"

There's a moment where her eyes grow large in surprise, before her face stretches out into a large beam.

"Why prolong the inevitable?" she whispers.

He leans down to press a hard kiss on her lips, grinning wide.

He wonders if anyone could literally burst from happiness.

"Yeah?" he asks, excited. She laughs.

"Yeah. It's like that song says," she tells him playfully, wrapping her arms around his neck, fingers playing with his hair. "I'm forever yours."

"Faithfully?" he teases. She nods with a giggle, leaning up to kiss him.

"Faithfully."

"Sing it for me," he tells her, turning on his back, pulling her with him.

And she does.

* * *

><p><em>You sing and I'm killed<em>

_I'm just not the same_

_As I was a year ago _

_And each minute since then_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yes I know. I should never attempt a love scene ever again. That was just bad... and awkward, and i should probably remove it. I might just do that another time, when I'm not half-asleep.  
><strong>

**Lyrics to Set Down Your Glass by Snow Patrol  
><strong>


	9. Epilogue

**A/N: This epilogue has been long overdue, I know. I'm not really sure if I like this, but I hope you do =)**

* * *

><p>He knew something was wrong from the moment he reached the front door and couldn't hear any sound coming from the other side. At five thirty in the evening, their home is <em>never<em> quiet. If Rachel isn't singing something, then it'll be Chris, laughing his five year old head off at Tom & Jerry. Needless to say, the silence coming from the other end is alarming to say the least.

"I'm home," he calls out as he pushes the front door open. Standing in the doorway, he frowns when there's no answer. Chris would usually be climbing up his leg by now. He turns to the coat rack and notes that Rachel's red jacket and Chris's bright yellow one hangs neatly off of it. Rachel's keys are in their usual place, in the bowl on the kitchen counter. So they're home.

Why is it so strangely silent?

"Rachel?" he calls out, closing the door behind him as he cautiously treks through the living room. It's been almost four months since they moved out of the old house, and he's still getting used to the abundance of space they have now. Chris loves it, of course. Their son is a bundle of energy and a constant source of anxiety for his mother. He's only five (_and three months_, he thinks to himself, momentarily amused. It's entirely Rachel's fault that the kid wakes up asking how old is he exactly every _single_ day), but he's been to the hospital enough times that both him and Rachel are now on first names bases with the nurses at the emergency unit.

"Rach?" he calls out again as he steps into their empty bedroom.

"We're in here!" she answers, her voice floating over from Chris's playroom. It was meant to be a guest room. And it was, until about a month in, when they found their son with his palms full of paint and his fingerprints all along the wall, as high up as he could reach, with the proudest smile pasted on his face. So they spoil their kid rotten, so what? Considering how hard it was trying to have him in the first place, Finn figured, why the hell not? Besides, Rachel gets crazy defensive whenever someone so much as _mentions_ the idea of disciplining her son. They're working on it, okay?

Besides, Christopher was their little miracle. When he thinks it over, his entire life has been filled with small miracles, really. Getting out of Lima, finding Rachel, _losing_ her and then, well, finding the real her, his life is nothing short of a real life soap opera, and never in a million years would Finn have thought it would ever turn out to be this dramatic.

They didn't get married right away, although his mother's ring went right back around her finger the moment she said yes (This time with_out_ the memory-removing car accident, thank you very much). They waited for a little more stability, while Rachel fully came to terms with who she is, was, and that person she still couldn't remember. Finn was there for every step of the way, the one constant truth in her life, and it hadn't been easy. Bitter words had been exchanged in more than one occasion, and he still regretfully remembers walking out on her once, when the anger at being the punching bag for all her frustrations became too much (He doesn't know if there is any other man in the world whose fiancé got crazy, territorial jealous with, well, herself essentially, but he can say it now, it was a doozy man).

A huge part of her anger came from the fact that Rachel Berry had lived the life that Rachel Corcoran had always wanted, and the fact that she couldn't even remember it had upset her to no end. It took him a while, two years actually, trying to convince her that Rachel Berry was still her, that they're one and the same, and that anything Rachel Berry could have done, Rachel Corcoran could too.

_"How do you know that?"_ she'd asked hesitantly at one point, and he'd smiled, because that was easy,

_"You have me, remember?"_ he answered, only a little playfully. _"Just like she did."_

She had teased him mercilessly about being full of himself, but he knew from the ruddy hue of her cheeks and the small, unrestrained smile on her face, that his words had helped as she began to tackle her tangled life with renewed vigor.

She didn't go back to performing, not exactly, but he did convince her to take vocal lessons, and it wasn't long until she herself started to train the other students herself ("_I guess my vocal muscles remember her, even if I don't_"). He pushes her to audition for roles, and even though she got some of them, the performing bug didn't seem to bite her the same way it did the old Rachel.

_"It's not about not believing in myself,"_ she told him when he confronted her about it one night. She was lying on their bed, turned to her side as she faced him, and he knew from the look of conviction on her face that she meant it. "_I know I can do it. If I wanted to. I just- if you had told me, a few years ago, that somewhere inside of me there's this person with this amazing voice-"_

"_With perfect pitch,_" he reminded her, grinning.

"_Yes, with perfect pitch, and- and that one day she was going to show herself to the entire world, I would have thought you were crazy. That wasn't me, Finn, you know? I didn't- I never thought I could do any of these things, I didn't even dare to dream about it until- well, until I got into an accident and lost my mind, and she did come out_," she said ruefully, shaking her head. She took his hand and brought it up to her cheek.

"_And until you_," she told him, leaning her face against his hand, her eyes boring into his as he felt his cheeks getting warm. "_Until you happened to me, and believed in me, I was a nobody. But with you, when I'm with you, I know I can do anything._"

"_You know, you happened to me too_," he said quietly, shifting closer towards her as her soft smile widened.

"_I can be a star,"_ she whispered, leaning towards him, pressing her forehead against his. "_If I wanted it. I'm good enough. I'm more than good enough_."

"_Hell yeah you are_."

"_Maybe that was I wanted once. But sometimes I think maybe Rachel Berry, maybe she lived it enough for the both of us. That's not what I want Finn_."

"_What do you want_?" he asked, his voice husky from the emotions he was holding back. She smiled, leaning forwards to press their lips together softly before she pulled back.

"_I want you. I want a life with you_."

"_You already have it_."

"_I want a family Finn_."

He allowed those words to sink in as he took in the almost nervous way she's worrying her lips, allowing the smallest of smiles to grow on his.

"_Yeah_?" he whispered, wrapping his arms around her torso to pull her closer.

"_Yeah_."

"_Okay_."

They finally did get married soon after, and it was a smaller affair than one he had imagined before. It was held back in Lima, in his parents' house because Rachel was adamant to have it somewhere that felt like home. Jesse was invited, along with his family, and Finn found that he didn't have it in him anymore to be hostile when her ex-husband came up to him, his newly born baby in his arms.

"_Take care of her, or I'll kick your ass_," Jesse warned teasingly, and he laughed, clapping the smaller man in the back.

"_I promise_."

It may be his bias speaking, but he doesn't care to be honest. She was the most beautiful bride he had ever seen, and she was his. He's realized for a while that he probably wouldn't deny her anything if it was within his means, and when they're swaying together in the middle of the dance floor (her toes were safe all evening), and she whispered that she wanted a baby, well that was the extent of their family planning.

But wanting and getting are two different things. It took a year of trying before Rachel was pregnant, and it was subsequently six months later when they lost their son. She had been a wreck, utterly inconsolable for weeks, completely blaming herself for everything, even though he told her over and over that it wasn't her fault. Things just happened. He knew it was more than just their baby, that she was thinking of her daughter too, and how she had lost Shelby in a similar way.

"_Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something_," she said quietly. "_Maybe I'm just not good enough to be a mom."_

"_That's not true Rachel_," he answered tiredly. It had been a month since they lost baby boy Hudson, but the memory of her passed out in the middle of their toilet, blood staining her white dress was still all too clear in his mind.

_"Well obviously the universe doesn't share your opinion_," she snapped, pulling away from him when he touched her shoulder. The key with Rachel is to be persistent, so he tried again, pulling her toward him gently by the shoulders. When she stopped resisting, he gathered her in his arms, pulling her close to him while she cried into his chest.

"_We just need to be patient_," he whispered into her hair. "_We just have to wait_."

"_Sometimes it just means that we need to give up Finn_."

"_Hey_," he said, nudging for her to look up. She did, her large eyes filled with tears as he pressed their foreheads together. "_Imagine where we would be if I did that. Everyone told me to give up on us Rach, but I never did. And you never did either, and look at us now._"

"_But_-"

"_You're a Hudson now babe, and we never give up_."

The next time they got pregnant, Rachel became even more neurotic than usual. The coffee table had been lined with baby books of every kind, and she absolutely refused to eat anything that she hadn't cooked herself, barring his pathetic attempts to help her and those last few months when his mom had 'visited' only to stick around until Christopher was born. She drove Santana crazy, calling her and Finn up when the slightest thing happened (The baby's not kicking, he's kicking too much, she feels especially bloated today and Finn's on a school trip, so Santana needs to come over and take her to see the doctor, and the best one of all, "Finn, I'm getting bigger, right? You promise?").

She wouldn't stop hounding their friend until Santana begrudgingly admitted, albeit out of exasperation, that even though she hates babies and thinks that children need to be locked up until they're thirteen, Christopher was different, and that she'll spoil him to death. She certainly didn't disappoint. For all her bitching that Finn and Rachel are turning their kid into a spoiled brat, she's the absolute worst. On the rare moments when they actually do decide to discipline him, Chris has a tendency to pick up Rachel's phone to call up aunt 'Tana for a 'pick-me-up'. They're still trying to work out how he manages to steal his mom's phone away from under her nose every time.

Rachel calls his name, snapping him out of his reverie as he hurries curiously towards the room at the far end of the apartment, pushing the door open to find his wife sitting cross-legged on the floor with an armful of their son as she mutters soothing words against the crown of his head, her hand running up and down his back comfortingly. Christopher's face is pressed against her chest, his pudgy hands clinging around her neck, and he's shaking. Over his head, Rachel's eye catches the raise of his eyebrow.

_Gomez_, she mouths. Christopher's pet gecko? She turns her head towards Gomez's little aquarium and Finn quietly walks over to it. The little guy is sprawled on the floor, belly-up with his little eyes closed, very much dead.

_Oh_.

Finn shuffles closer to his family, sinking down next to Rachel. Tentatively, he touches Chris's shoulder.

"What's wrong buddy?" he asks quietly. At the sound of his father's voice, Christopher turns his head, and the kid looks so pathetic, it's almost breaking his heart.

"Dad- daddy," he hiccups, leaning his head against Rachel's shoulder. "Gomez won't wake up. Mom- mommy said he's going to heaven."

Finn looks up at Rachel, trying to hide an amused smile. Heaven? _Really_? She shrugs, sending him a look that dares him to come up with something better. Obviously, he can't. Chris is looking up at him tearfully, fully expecting him to say something reassuring, but Gomez has very clearly bit the dust, what else is there to say?

"I'm sorry Chris," he says regretfully instead. Christopher, inheriting his mother's big brown eyes, and incidentally, her uncanny ability to look like the whole world has ended, continues staring up at him, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks as his lips start to tremble. Finn opens his arms and Chris jumps immediately, releasing his hold on Rachel to latch on to his father as he continues to cry.

"I don't want him to go to heaven," Christopher wails. "He's not going to like it there."

Rachel, seeing an out, immediately stands, quietly leaving him with their son. _Traitor_.

"C'mon bud," he says soothingly. "He's gonna love it there. I bet they'll put him in with all the other good lizards, and he'll even get his own rock and everything."

Chris is quiet for a few seconds, his small hands absent-mindedly playing with Finn's tie.

"They'll let him eat Oreos?" Chris asks quietly, looking up at him. He struggles not to make a face.

"All the Oreos Gomez can handle," he promises. Christopher's face brightens for a second before he frowns again.

"But he doesn't know anyone in heaven," his son tells him worriedly. "No one's going to play with him like I do, and what if they almost step on him like mommy?"

Finn hides a smile, putting his hands on Chris's shoulders, pushing him back gently to get a good look at him.

"What do you mean he doesn't know anyone? He knows plenty of people. Star's going to be there, remember her?"

Chris nods solemnly, thinking of their old cat.

"She was a nice kitty."

"Yeah."

"Mommy cried really bad when she went to heaven."

"She did, didn't she? Anyway, Star's going to be there, and she's going to take good care of him. And hey, gammy Corcoran too, and Shelby, and your brother. I mean, yeah, he's gonna miss you, but they're probably all waiting for him right now."

"You promise?" He hates lying to his kid, but letting the little dude believe that lizards go to heaven is bound to be better for him in the long run than telling him that they're going to bury Gomez up in the greenhouse on the roof and that he's going to turn into fertilizer in a few months, right?

"I promise," he answers, grinning. That seemed to cheer Christopher up considerably. Rachel walks in just then, carrying a small matchbox with her. She hands it to Christopher.

"Come on baby, we're going to give him a small funeral, okay?" she says, pulling his son up by his hand as they walk over to the aquarium. He can't help the snort that comes out when Rachel wrinkles her nose as Christopher places his lizard carefully in his 'casket'. She hated Gomez. If there was one thing she would have put her foot down on, it would have been the lizard, but there wasn't much they could do five months ago, when Chris came home with Santana one day with a lizard, and its aquarium in tow (He's pretty sure it was payback for some last minute babysitting). Standing, Finn walks over to them just in time to see Gomez one last time before Christopher slides the matchbox close.

"Did you do it?" he whispers playfully in her ear, voice low enough so that their son won't hear him. She whirls her head around to glare at him immediately, pinching his arm.

"I am _not_ a murderer," she tells him snootily, stepping back to give Christopher room to move. They trail after his tiny frame, walking together behind him as he walks into every room for Gomez to say his last goodbye.

"I don't know Rach," he says solemnly as he throws an arm around her. "You did almost step on him."

"That was an _accident_!" she hisses, struggling to release herself from his hold, but he won't let her, tucking her even closer to his side. "I may not be fond of that ugly animal, but I definitely won't kill our son's pet! Finn-"

"Mommy?"

He turns his attention back to Christopher, schooling the teasing look on his face into a more appropriately somber expression.

"What is it sweetie?" Rachel asks gently, kneeling down to face him.

"Is gammy Corcoran really going to take care of Gomez in heaven?"

He watches as she pulls back in surprise, looking at his son in confusion.

"Gammy Corcoran?" she repeats. Chris nods his little head vigorously.

"Daddy said she would. And Shelby and Star and-"

"Daddy said that, huh?" she cuts in, looking up at him from where she's kneeling. He shrugs, his lips pulling upward in an unassuming grin. He sees the tension melting away from her face, giving way to a beautiful smile as she turns back to Christopher.

"They really are, okay honey? Gomez is going to have the best time Chris. He's going to be the happiest lizard in heaven ever."

That seems to have eliminated all his doubts as Christopher smiles, those dimples he inherited from Finn coming out in full effect.

"Okay. But we have to wait for aunt 'Tana okay?"

"Why?" Rachel asks, bemused.

"Because she promised she was gonna come," he answers simply.

"When did you- never mind," Rachel says, sighing. "Just get your coat, okay? We're going to go up the minute she arrives."

"Okay," Chris says, shoving the matchbox into her hand as he runs for his yellow jacket.

She makes a face, wrinkling her nose in disgust while he laughs, walking towards her and pulling her up.

"Hand him over," he says, holding out his hand as Rachel drops the matchbox onto his palm. He curls his fingers around it just in time when she pulls him down by his tie, pressing their lips together.

"What's this for?" he mumbles, smiling into their kiss. She presses their lips together once more before she pulls away, smiling.

"For being you," she says simply. He grins, winding his free arm around her waist, Gomez wrapped safely in his other hand.

"It's fun being me." She laughs, wrapping her arms around him as she squeezes the life out of him.

"I love you, you know that?" she whispers, looking up at him with a small smile on her face. It's been years, and sometimes Rachel still looks at him like he hung the moon.

"I was kind of hoping, you know, what with us being married and having a kid and all. And plus, there was that whole forgetting me thing. I mean, it's going to take years of loving just to make up for that alone."

"Shut up," she says, pouting playfully when he laughs. He leans down to kiss her again.

"I love you too, you know that?" he mumbles against her lips.

"_God_, you two make me sick."

They pull away abruptly to find a slightly dishevelled Santana staring at them with disdain, Christopher in her arms.

"There's a kid in the house for God's sake! Tone it down on the PDA will you?"

"Hi Santana," he says wryly. Santana rolls her eyes, waving off his greeting.

"C'mon, c'mon let's go!" Christopher yells in a burst of energy. "They're waiting for Gomez in heaven."

Santana rolls her eyes again, but she acquiesces, abruptly turning around and walking back towards the door. Finn snorts as he watches them.

"She's totally whipped."

"Oh, and you're not? You're holding a matchbox with a dead lizard inside of it."

"I see your point."

They hear Christopher hollering for Rachel, and he chuckles.

"He must have inherited your lungs," he teases as they walk out the door, hand in hand.

"Of course. He'll be the best singer in his whole class soon."

"You're singing at this 'funeral' aren't you?"

"Prepare to listen to the best rendition of Ben yet."

"That's a song about a mouse named Ben."

"Your point being?"

"Our son is burying a lizard named Gomez."

"I'll improvise."

"Can't wait to hear it Rach."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: And we're really done! Hope you enjoyed the ride, and hey, tell me if you do (or don't).**


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